


Tunnel Vision

by scottmcniceass



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, possible PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:03:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 90,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmcniceass/pseuds/scottmcniceass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Zayn is an award-winning popstar with a knack for getting himself in trouble, and Liam is the bodyguard he didn’t want to hire who has a few problems with staying professional.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (title from the Justin Timberlake song by the same name.) 
> 
> QUICK WARNING BEFORE YOU READ: If you're looking for a fic with a lot of angst, character development, important plot, you're not gonna find it here. This fic is mostly fluff. I'm not kidding. The entire second half of this fic is mainly fluff and smut. Also, if you don't like bottom!Liam you might want to turn around now.
> 
> Also I'd like to dedicate this to the lovely Lea, who is probably the only reason this fic ever got finished. (Thank you, darling.)

 

The only reason Zayn wakes up is because he hurts. His side hurts; his head aches; his lip has possibly split back open and the metallic taste of blood floods his mouth. When he was nine years old he'd jumped off the top of his bunk bed, thinking he could fly, and he swears that breaking his arm back then hurt a hell of a lot less than this.

Okay, that's not the  _only_  reason why he's awake. But it's the only reason he's not getting out of bed and throttling Niall and Louis for waking him up. Normally, he might actually throw things. Louis would call him a diva for it, but Zayn wouldn't mind. If he could actually manage to roll over without the pain in his ribs making him nauseous, he would do so right now.

As it is, he just moans and buries his face deeper in his pillow.

Someone gently cards their fingers through his hair, and he knows without a doubt that it's Harry. It couldn't be anyone else. Louis is the opposite of gentle 90% of the time, and Niall's form of comforting someone is paying for the next round and a pat on the back. "How're you feeling?" Harry asks, confirming his thoughts.

"Like four guys beat the shit out of me," Zayn spits, knowing bitterness is etched into each word. "Oh, wait, that actually happened."

He turns his head just in time to see Harry's wince, and he's sure that look is mirrored on his own face, because his cheek starts throbbing now, too. He can only imagine how he looks right now, but he really doesn't want to see his reflection any time in the near future.

The bed dips, and he figures Niall has sat himself down. It can't be Louis, because Louis' now crouching beside the bed, face level with Zayn's. "I'm not going to feel bad for you," he says.

"Louis," Harry warns. "Not right now."

"Then when?" Louis snaps. "The next time? When they decide  _not_  to leave him in one piece? He's reckless, Harry, and I'm sick about caring for someone who doesn't know how to care for himself."

Zayn tries to glare at him, he really does, but the gash in his eyebrow makes facial expressions painful. He refuses to admit that Louis has a point, though. He would have been fine yesterday. He was at a club, hanging out with a few friends from home during his break, and of  _course_  he didn't bring security with him. Like he wants everyone reminded of the fact that he's not like them; that he's not  _normal_. That he's  _Zayn Malik, International R &B star_, who once opened for Usher and has toured in dozens of countries and currently has a number one single in twenty-seven. Hell, he was at that dingy club with his friends for that exact reason; no one would ever think they'd find him there.

Only he'd went to the bathroom, and that group of guys just outside the door recognized him. Or maybe it had nothing to do with that. They could have just been itching for a fight, and maybe Zayn was the first person who walked by, and they decided to kick the shit out of him. He has no way of knowing, but what he  _does_  know is that it was a fluke. Something that no one could have predicted. Something that definitely will not happen ever again. So Louis can get off his fucking back.

"No, I agree," Niall chips in. "He can't keep going out on his own. Too many close calls, and Lou has a point. He needs tighter security."

"I love that everyone talks about me like I'm not even fucking here," Zayn grinds out. Normally, he loves having them all here (well, technically they're not all here, since Josh is visiting family for the next week and won't be back until then), would be a lot nicer and far more welcoming. He just doesn't have it in him. "And if you're all here to yell at me, you can go. Except Harry. He can stay."

"Aw," Harry coos. "But don't pick favourites, that's not fair. And I agree with them."

Zayn looks at him sharply, something he instantly regrets by the crick he gets in his neck. "Excuse me?" Harry has always been on his side. Since the moment they met they'd just… clicked, in a way that had initially thrown Zayn off. He wasn't used to having  _real_  friends outside of the ones he'd known since he was ten. But he's gotten not only used to his and Harry's relationship, but he's gotten dependant on it. Dependent on the fact that Harry  _always_  sides with him, even when he's wrong.

Harry shrugs and takes Zayn's hand in his, no longer petting his hair. "You look seriously messed up, Zayn. I hate to say it, and I know how you are about your private life, and you hate when all the other stuff leaks into it, but you've got to be smarter than that. You can't leave the house without everyone recognizing you. It's just not safe to be… frolicking around town without a care in the world."

"Frolicking?" Louis snorts. "Honestly, Harry, we're not in the '50s."

Harry shoots him a look, but he goes back to rubbing circles on the back of Zayn's hand with his thumb. "You should talk to your manager. Or your security staff. I think that, right now, it'd be the best thing for you."

Zayn glares at him, his fucked up eyebrow be damned. "The only thing that's best for me right now would another painkiller," he says shortly. "And for you all to leave. If you're all so adamant about me bulking up on security, I can always start by having them kick the three of you out of my hospital room."

"The fact that you're in a hospital room is exactly why we're right!" Harry goes off.

Silence settles heavily in the room. A machine to Zayn's left beeps, but other than that, he can hear each and every one of their collective breaths. Even Louis looks stunned, which is something that rarely happens. But then, Harry going off like that rarely happens. He's not hot-headed. Sure, he's emotional, but he's too careful and thoughtful for outbursts like that.

"I'm sorry," Harry says softly. He runs a hand through his own hair, tugging when his fingers get caught in the curls. "I shouldn't have yelled, but really, Zayn, we're worried about you. And you need to stop being so stubborn about this."

Zayn tries not to get so defensive this time, because he knows that they all mean well, he does. "I don't want fifteen guys tailing me every time I go to take a piss," he argues anyways. "That's not the kind of life I signed up for."

"Sort of is, though," Louis says. When Zayn has the energy, he's going to punch Louis.

"Maybe not fifteen," Niall says, jumping back into the conversation. "What about one? Someone normal, you know? Not those mountains that follow us whenever we're on tour. Just a normal dude, someone you actually like. We could hold auditions, even. Put out an ad."

"That's brilliant, Niall," Harry says.

Zayn would chew the inside of his lip right now, if it weren't still hurting. Instead he silently contemplates this. It's a reasonable enough solution, he knows. Except he really, really doesn't think it's necessary. And Harry was right when he said Zayn hates when this shit leaks into his personal life. He wants to be able to visit a friend, maybe even go shopping, or get something to eat, without having someone constantly beside him, making sure no harm comes to him. He's not a child that needs a babysitter, okay?

"I don't know," Zayn says finally.

"Just try," Harry offers. "I'll even call Old Willy —" Even Zayn lets out a soft chuckle at the nickname of their manager. "— and talk the whole thing through. You just focus on getting better and getting out of here, and when you are, we'll set something up so you can meet with a few people and see if you could handle any of them following you around 24/7. And if you can't, then we'll come up with a new plan."

"Okay," Zayn agrees, only because he knows that if he argues again he'll be the one being unreasonable. "Can someone seriously get me a nurse with some painkillers, though? I think one of my ribs is broken."

"Fractured two," Louis corrects. "I asked."

"Lovely."

—

He's released out of the hospital the next day, surprisingly enough, but he's told he'll be practically bedridden for quite a while. There's nothing fatally wrong with him, though. Apparently he's lucky he doesn't have a concussion, and there wasn't much they could do for his ribs. Basically he's just in pain, and there's not much the doctors can do for him that couldn't be done just as easily at home.

Harry is there to take him home, picking him up from the hospital in a discreet black car. Zayn gets in, closes his eyes, and passes out. Whatever painkillers they have him on, they're freaking strong. It's awesome.

The only downside to getting released from the hospital is that he can't get anyone to leave him alone. At least there, he could call in someone to escort everyone out. At home, he literally has to shout at Louis and Niall twice, but neither of them budge from his couch. Apparently they're all keeping watch on him until he's better, which could take  _weeks_ , the doctor said.

Josh comes back days later, just when Zayn's starting to get cabin fever. He's still hiked up on pain medicine, his face is still gruesome to look at every time he passes a mirror, and he still isn't deemed good enough to get out of the house on his own.

"How're you feeling?" Josh asks. They're the only ones in Zayn's room, but they're not the only ones in his flat. Zayn's just had it up to here with about everyone, though, so he's locked himself in his bedroom. And since Josh has yet to piss him off, Zayn's allowed him in.

"I'm fine," Zayn says. It's the truth. Pain is something he can deal with. "Been better, but I'm fine."

Josh nods slowly, and an uncomfortable look comes over his face. "But I wasn't asking about how you felt  _physically_." Zayn blinks at him. "I mean, that must have been pretty fucked up to deal with what happened. You sure you're okay?"

Again, Zayn blinks, only this time he sees it on the back of his eyelids. Blotchy red, grotesque faces leering at him. The floor of the bathroom, grimy with grey tiles that looked black when he spit his blood onto them. The sound of laughter and pounding music in the distance. That sudden, hopeless realization that he could die, really, and no one was there to stop it. And then afterwards, that same hopelessness when he'd come to after blacking out, with his head cushioned on that cold tiled floor, someone bending down next to him, asking if he was alright before yelling for someone to call an ambulance.

"I'm good," Zayn lies. "Don't even remember it, honestly. I was pretty plastered when it happened."

"Mm," Josh mutters. "Well, if you say so."

"I do."

"Want me to kick Louis out of your flat before he sets something on fire?"

"Nah," Zayn says. "Leave 'im. If I promise to get Selena Gomez to follow him on twitter, he'll give me foot rubs."

Josh shakes his head. "Fame has changed you, man."

Zayn shoves him and laughs.

—

A few weeks later, Zayn is still not on board. He can't keep milking his injuries anymore, though, because he really doesn't have any. Other than a scar that splits his one eyebrow, he's pretty much back to normal, on most fronts. And Louis and Harry refuse to get off his back anymore about this.

Which is why Zayn is stuck sitting on his couch between Louis and Duane, the head of his security, on a Tuesday morning when all he really wants is to be asleep. He told Harry he didn't want to do this. He'd purposefully left his apartment in shambles so no one would feel welcome. And yet, he's still stuck here.

"So, Mark," Louis says while looking down at a clipboard, instead of the man (if that's what he really is, because Zayn's pretty sure he's related to Hagrid) squeezing into Zayn's favourite recliner. "Tell us about yourself."

"Uh." Mark frowns. "I've been in this business for fifteen years. I've worked for—"

"Yeah, we have all that on paper," Louis says abruptly, cutting him off. "I mean  _personally_. What are you like? How often would you say you pass gas in the company of others? Frequently? Infrequently? Daily? Hourly?"

"Thank you," Zayn says loudly. "Next."

The next guy isn't any better. He's just as huge, just as conspicuous. He clearly remembers Niall saying 'normal dude' and, unless they're putting a high amount of steroids in the public water, these guys do not fit that description. The only person that Zayn would even consider was Melanie, who was this tall, sturdy woman with sandy hair that reminded him of a motherly figure. Only he wouldn't want his mother following him around all the time, so he shoots her down. He did like her, though.

"Okay, number seventeen," Louis sighs. "Seriously, Zayn, you're such a picky little shit."

"I liked that last one," Duane puts in.

Louis and Zayn both give him blank looks. "That's because he had a tattoo of your favourite wrestler on his bicep. Which is just weird, by the way. Someone go let the next one in." He looks down at his clipboard. "Liam Payne."

Zayn tilts his head back against his white leather couch as Duane gets up. He doesn't want to meet another person. He doesn't want to interview  _Liam Payne,_  who's probably some sweaty middle aged guy who weighs three hundred pounds, all muscle, and has barbed wire tattoos. What kind of a name even is that? Liam Payne. God, he was just  _born_  to be a bodyguard, wasn't he? Or some psycho doctor from a horror movie that grafts animal parts onto human bodies or something equally weird.  _Dr. Payne_.

The couch sinks next to him as Duane returns, and Zayn takes a deep, steadying breath. Only three more to go and he can say he tried, and it just didn't work out.

He meets a pair of warm brown eyes. They're crinkled just a bit at the side, soft despite the set, cool expression on the guy's face. That's the first thing Zayn notices about him. And then he notices the fact that whoever he is — Liam Payne— he's got to be the youngest person they interviewed today.

"Normal dude," Louis says, sounding surprised. "Well fuck me."

"Um, excuse me?" Liam asks.

Louis waves a hand. "Sorry, ignore me. You're attractive. I'm just surprised."

And as awkward as an admission as that was, it's true. He  _is_  attractive, if you're into the whole muscular, rugged, flexed biceps, washboard abs, chiselled, stubble covered jaw thing. Which Zayn isn't. He likes petitie girls with long hair, or pretty boys with blue eyes and reckless tendencies. Not boy-next-door with a good workout regimen and an unfortunate career as a human shield.

"It says here that you're twenty-one," Louis reads from his clipboard. "You've only been doing this—"

"Two years," Liam admits. He chuckles awkwardly. "I probably don't have the most impressive resume, I'll admit."

"If you take your shirt off, I doubt I'll even remember how to read your damn resume," Louis mutters under his breath. "Tell us about yourself."

"Um. What do you want to know?" Liam asks, fidgeting a bit. He looks almost uncomfortable in his own skin, sitting there in Zayn's chair, eyes darting between the three of them. How the hell could anyone count on this kid to protect them? He looks like an overgrown puppy.

"How many inches?" Zayn chokes on air and tries to step on Louis' foot as discreetly as he can. "Sorry, I meant, what do you do in your free time?"

"Nothing that interesting," Liam admits. "Uh, I like to workout." Zayn snorts. "And last weekend I sorta spent the whole day inside watching a marathon of all the X-Men movies on TV."

"Favourite superhero?" Louis questions, eying Zayn smugly.

"Batman, or Iron Man," Liam says instantly.

"Zayn likes the emotionally damaged playboy geniuses too," Louis tells him. Which is the truth, but that's none of Liam Payne's fucking business, thanks, Louis. "What would you say your most played song on your iPod is, at the moment?"

Liam looks confused by the question. "Uh, probably When I Was Your Man. I like Bruno Mars."

Louis smirks and checks something off on his clipboard. "Well isn't that a coincidence. Did you know that he and Zayn are doing a collab on Zayn's new album?"

Liam's eyes light up. "Seriously? That's awesome. I mean, um. That's. Wow. Can't wait to hear it." He clears his throat. "But, no offence, I don't really see what my most played song has to do with me potentially being his bodyguard."

It doesn't, is the thing. Zayn made up his mind long before Liam walked into the room with those brown eyes and his stupidly muscular body. Nothing against the guy. He seems nice, at least. And Zayn's sure he'll get work somewhere else, looking like that. Hell, Louis looks about ready to take all his savings into hiring Liam for himself. But Zayn's not interested. "We'll have someone get back to you," Zayn says. "Thank you, Liam."

Liam gets up and, seriously? Is this guy for real? He extends his hand to Duane, first, who'd been silent the whole time. Then Louis. Finally, he's holding out his hand and Zayn has no choice but to take it, or else he'll look like a prick. He does, and Liam squeezes just gently, his warm, calloused-fingered hand enveloping Zayn's for only a beat before he lets go.

"Thank you," he adds. "It was great meeting you, Zayn."

"Same," Zayn says. It sounds both dazed and offhanded. He's not sure which one he actually feels.

Liam lets himself out. As soon as the door shuts behind him, Zayn gets off the couch, happy to stretch his legs and not be stuffed between two people. Louis keeps looking over his clipboard as Zayn sinks into the recliner, legs thrown over the arm, and Duane says, "Well he's my first choice, hands down."

"Definitely," Louis agrees. "He was perfect. Exactly what we were looking for."

"He was?" Zayn asks. "Seriously?"

Louis gives him a look. "Pull the stick out of your ass, Malik," Louis says. "You liked him. You're just being difficult because you're a petulant child who doesn't want to be kept on a leash."

"I'm gonna take that as my cue to leave," Duane says abruptly. "You already have my input, and I've got a date with the missus in half an hour."

Zayn waves him out and continues to hold Louis' heated gaze.

Louis has been Zayn's friend for as long as Harry, as well as Niall and Josh. The four of them are in a band that Louis apparently started when they were all fifteen. Zayn met them four years ago when he was first starting out, and they'd ended up opening his first tour for him. And his second. He couldn't imagine touring without them, at this point, but that doesn't mean he likes them all the time. The only upside to Louis, really, is that he's never changed. A lot of people have, in Zayn's life. They treat him differently because of his money, or fame, but Louis never does. Never kisses his ass or treats him like he's better than anyone else, which is as refreshing as it is fucking irritating, because Louis can be a dick. Though, admittedly, he tends to only be a dick if he thinks you're being one first, but Zayn doesn't think he is at this moment.

"I told you all I don't want constant supervision," Zayn reminds him.

" _Protection_ ," Louis corrects. "And you don't have a choice. Harry talked to Old Willy. Duane gets the say on the final pick. That's why he was here. He's the head of your security, and it was decided that, if you keep protesting this so damn hard, he'll decide for you. And you just heard his verdict. Hope you liked Liam."

Zayn gapes at him. No. No way. That's not  _fair_. It's Zayn's life! If he wants to live it how he wants to live it, no one can stop him. "I'm calling Harry," he says abruptly. He digs his phone out of his pocket and presses the second speed-dial number.

Louis sighs at him. "Just let someone help you for once in your damn life, Zayn, honestly."

Zayn ignores him. When Harry picks up, it's with a cheerful, "How'd it go? Did you like any of them?"

"Louis says that I don't have a choice in the matter," Zayn tells him. "He said that no matter what—"

"One second," Harry says quickly. "Someone's on the other line. I'll be right back."

Zayn stares at his phone, and then looks up at Louis, who has his own phone pressed to his ear and is saying, "He was totally rude to all of them, Harry. Some of them were even likable. Well, okay, not some. One. He was great, though! Perfect, really. Not— not like  _that_. Oh come on, I didn't flirt with him. Harry—"

"I'm back," Harry says, sounding annoyed. "That was—"

"Louis," Zayn finishes for him. "I know. He's sitting on my couch."

"Oh." Harry takes a deep breath, and Zayn figures he's currently curled up in one of his yoga positions. "Are you sure you didn't like any of them?"

"I never said I didn't," Zayn denies. "I said I don't  _need_  a constant bodyguard. Whether I liked any of them or not isn't the point."

"It's not like he's going to be hanging out in your apartment with you," Harry coaxes. "He'll only be there when you go out. I'm sure you'll hardly even notice him there. And it'd be for your own good. Plus, you might end up liking the company, maybe," Harry says reasonably. Zayn hates that. Harry is is _always_  reasonable. It makes it impossible to argue with him. "And it'll barely be when you're in town anyways. Willy and I were talking, and there's enough security at most of the places you frequent in here anyways. It'll just be when you're doing promotions, or touring, or going somewhere really sketchy like you did that night."

"But I'll have to run all of my plans by him," Zayn argues.

"Well, yeah, but you're on a schedule most of the time anyways."

Zayn groans and closes his eyes. "Why do I never get a choice in these things?"

"Does that mean you're agreeing to this?" Harry asks, sounding hopeful.

Zayn sighs. "I have to, don't I?"

"Well, yeah, but I don't want you to hate us all just because we're looking out for your best interests."

"I could never hate you," Zayn says softly. "You know that."

"I do, but it's nice to hear you say it."

He lets Harry go, only to find Louis smirking at him from where he's sitting on Zayn's couch, Zayn's remote in hand. "Are you still here for a reason?" he asks.

"Yeah. Your seven hundred channels."

—

"It'd be quicker if we go left."

Zayn lifts his head from the cold window of the car. Liam is paying him no attention at all. He's too busy leaning forward in his seat, talking to the driver. Zayn never speaks to the drivers. Someone gives them the address, Zayn gets in the car, and he stares out the window until he arrives.

Which is basically what he'd done today, only someone was sliding into the seat beside his as he pulled shut his door. Someone who actually put on their seatbelt and then sat there with their hands folded carefully in their lap. Someone who's currently trying to tell their driver how to do their job, because apparently doing his own isn't enough for him.

"What are you doing?" Zayn hisses.

Liam spares him only a short glance. "We'll get stuck in traffic if we go this way. If we go left, take Macon, and then go up Howard, we'll get there faster."

" _Liam_."

"No, he's right," the driver says, instantly following Liam's directions. "I forgot about the construction they're doing. Howard's the better route."

Liam sits back in his seat. He doesn't look smug, the way Louis would. He looks like a child that raised their hand in class and got a sticker for getting the right answer. "See? I can be useful. I know this city like the back of my hand."

Zayn goes back to staring out the window. The streetlights flash by, already turned on even though it's not completely dark yet. It's just early enough that they'll get to the club before the crowds start really pouring in, which is exactly how Zayn likes it. Only, he won't tonight, since he's got a freaking babysitter.

He'd fought tooth and nail over bringing Liam tonight, but no one listened to him. He's done great, up until this point, in proving to everyone that he doesn't need a constant bodyguard. He'd went out on Tuesday to do some shopping with Niall. On Friday he and Harry went to the movies and got dinner. The other day he'd pulled on a hat and glasses and went for a walk through the city to clear his head. But tonight — his first night since the incident that he's actually going out partying— he has to take Liam.

It's also the first time he's seen Liam since the day they interviewed him. He has no idea who officially hired Liam to be his bodyguard, but it sure as fuck wasn't Zayn. Not that any of this is actually Liam's fault, he constantly has to remind himself. Liam, for his part, is just doing the job he's paid to do. It's not fair of Zayn to resent him for it, but knowing that and stopping himself from feeling that way are two different things.

They pull up in front of Radioactive, and Zayn waits only long enough for the car to come to an actual stop before he's pushing open the door and getting out. There's only a bouncer out front, no line yet. Give it an hour, not even, and that'll change. But Radioactive if the kind of club where it doesn't matter how long you stand in line; you could be out there all night, and they still might not let you in. Some day's they're more exclusive than others and, as unfair and morally wrong as it is, sometimes only the attractive people are let in.

Behind him, Zayn hears Liam's door open, followed by a polite "Thank you." Zayn rolls his eyes, he can't help it. Seriously, who is this kid? Is his managerial team aware of the fact that they hired Bruce Banner when they thought they were getting the Hulk?

Zayn leaves Liam behind as he heads for the doors, but Liam jogs to keep up with him. He doesn't need I.D.. The bouncer takes one look at him and steps out of the way, and Zayn walks straight in. He turns back around when he realizes Liam's not behind him. The bouncer is now between them, and Zayn can tell that he's giving Liam a hard time.

He could just go inside. Hell, Liam might not ever make it in, and isn't that what Zayn wants? To not have Liam trailing behind him? But he meets Liam's eyes over the guy's shoulder, and with a sigh he says, "He's with me."

Instantly, Liam is allowed in. He shoots the bouncer one slightly irritated look before grinning at Zayn. "Can you do that anywhere?" he asks. "Just — get in without question?"

Zayn shrugs. "Maybe." He leaves it at that, carefully keeping a few feet between himself and Liam as he makes his way inside. And Liam, thankfully, gets that he needs his space. He never tries to walk directly beside Zayn, or close enough that they could touch. He's keeping a respectful distance, and Zayn's grateful for it.

Inside the actual club, it's pretty dead. There are a few people inside, ones that don't even bother to look over at him and Liam as they make their way through the room. Zayn heads straight for the spiral staircase with the lit-up steps. At the top, there's another bouncer, and just like the first one he's waved through, only Liam is able to follow right behind him without getting stopped.

The VIP section at Radioactive is great. They don't really have a second floor, aside from the VIP section, which is right above the DJ booth. The whole area is lit up with florescent pink and blue lights; there's a long, comfortable purple sofa against the wall, with those thick, fluffy, expensive pillows that are never actually comfortable enough to use. There's also a large table with a small box cut into the middle of it for alcohol, and across from the couch is a railing that looks out over the rest of the club.

Liam lets out an appreciative sound, and Zayn wonders how he's going to take this kid everywhere with him if he keeps acting like a tourist. At least he's the first one here, and he's the only one who witnesses the wonder-like look on Liam's face as he leans on the balcony, taking it all in.

And really, Zayn must admit that he'd done the exact same thing his first time. When he was still getting used to the fact that this is his life. That this is shit he's going to get everyday. That he's one of those people that can wave their friends into any place they want to go with a simple "He's with me."

"Quick question," Liam says when he turns around. He comes over to Zayn, who's already on the sofa, and takes a long look around the space. "How many people can get into this area, aside from us?"

"Normally?" Zayn shrugs. "Tonight? Fifteen. Give or take, depending on whether anyone else is bringing guests."

Liam's eyebrows raise. "You mean this whole area is yours for the night?"

"Pretty much," Zayn says. He leans back, arms crossed behind his head. Liam is gaping at him, and it makes him uncomfortable. "It's a friend's birthday," he explains. "Best friend."

"Still," Liam says. "This had to of cost you a fortune. It's a bit frivolous, don't you think?"

Frivolous? And he sounds disapproving, almost. Here Zayn thought Liam was shockingly impressed, when in reality he thought the whole thing was ridiculous. Before Zayn can react to that, a pretty girl in a short, black pencil skirt comes into the room.

"Mr. Malik," she says, sounding surprised. "I was told you and your guests weren't supposed to arrive for another hour. The area isn't ready for your guests yet."

Zayn waves a hand. "Just set up around me. I wanted to get here before the crowds did."

"Oh, that's understandable," the woman says. "We could always move you to another, more comfortable area while we set up, if you like."

Zayn shakes his head. "I'd prefer to stay here, if that's all right."

The woman nods quickly. "That's fine. People will be moving in and out of this room, though. If there's anything you'd like, for the time being…?"

"Something with vodka."

"I'll have someone send it up immediately." She turns to Liam. "And you, sir?"

Liam looks a bit thrown. "Um, a bottle of water would be great, thanks."

Zayn considers ordering Liam to go stand with the bouncer, since his job is to protect Zayn, and no one that gets in this room is ever going to hurt him. But he feels a slight pang when he pictures the wounded look that would probably cross Liam's face, so he decides against it.

Really, Zayn doesn't know what to do here. He's never had security literally follow his  _every_  step like this. Usually they know when to wait by the door, or when to wait in the car, but Liam looks like he's prepared to spend the whole night plastered to Zayn's side. And Zayn has no idea if that's just because he's too inexperienced to know any better, or if that's what he was told to do by whoever hired him. He doesn't want to ask and come off as an asshole, so he doesn't.

Another attractive girl brings them their drinks. She hands Liam his water with a pleasant, professional smile, before handing Zayn has glass, careful to have their fingers brush. She dips low when she does it, too, and her already low-cut shirt reveals even more. Zayn averts his eyes.

When she's gone, Liam leans against the railing once more, and Zayn sips his drink with his eyes closed.

Just as the other woman said, people come in and out of the room. The lights change, going from pink to red and white. They switch out the pink pillows for white ones as well, and they set up a foam machine in the corner that isn't turned on yet. The foam machine, Zayn knows, is Harry's favourite thing in the entire world. Which is exactly why Zayn's forking out the extra money to get it.

By the time Zayn's done his drink, the room looks completely different, and downstairs the music is already pounding. Lights flash over the balcony, where Liam's still standing, casting his face in a rainbow of colours, and Zayn starts to get antsy. What if this is it? What if the others, for some reason, don't show and he's stuck with just Liam the whole night? How awkward would  _that_  be?

Just as he's thinking this, bottom lip worrying between his teeth, he hears a familiar voice shout, "The party has  _arrived_."

As usual, Louis' voice proceeds him into the room. He's dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a dress shirt with a blazer over it, his hair heavily gelled back. Niall, on the other hand, is wearing a worn pair of jeans and a shirt that says 100% Stud. Unsurprisingly.

"Where's the birthday boy?" Louis asks, looking around. "Fuck, it's empty in here."

"That's the point of renting out the whole area," Zayn says patiently. "Less people."

"How do you have a party with four people, though?" Louis argues.

Niall rolls his eyes sympathetically at Zayn as he drops a small wrapped box on the table in the corner, one that's covered in glittery streamers. He flops onto the couch with Zayn after he's done, and he eyes Liam, who had turned when they first arrived but resumed watching the crowd below as soon as he, what? Decided that Louis and Niall weren't a threat? Louis has joined him now, too, and he can't hear what they're talking about, but he can see Louis gesturing wildly with his hands and Liam's body shaking as he chuckles.

"Who's that?" Niall asks.

"My new babysitter," Zayn says with as little animosity as he can manage. "Liam."

"They were serious about that?"

"Apparently."

"Huh." Niall takes another, more considering look at Liam. "Don't seem why you sound so bitter about it. At least he's nice to look at. If you're into that."

Zayn snorts. "A leash made out of diamonds is still a leash," he says softly.

—

It isn't until Harry arrives (with Josh in toe) that things finally get fun. When Louis stops looking wistfully over the balcony, like he'd rather be down there than up here. Bottles are popped, music starts pouring through the upstairs speakers, the lights start flashing, and Zayn starts  _really_  drinking.

There's a cake, at some point. Some giant affair carried in by two girls both dressed in bikinis (Zayn doesn't remember asking for that, but whatever) with sparklers stuck all over it. Harry's other friends all whoop, there's a chorus of Happy Birthday sung loud enough to contend with the remix the DJ is playing. And Harry grabs Zayn's hand and pulls him off the couch, demanding for a dance with possessive hands instead of words.

"Thank you!" Harry shouts in his ear. "You're crazy, you know that? You didn't have to do all this!"

Zayn tries to shrug and still dance, at the same time. "Not a big deal, Harry!"

"Is, though!" Harry argues. His hips rock closer to Zayn's as he leans in, but there's nothing really charged about how they're moving. There's nothing really charged between them, actually, is what it is. Never has been. Though he knows that the tabloids speculate, that more than a few people believe there's something there, there really isn't. They're just oddly comfortable with each other. "Lou's jealous, by the way!"

Zayn snorts but, most likely, Harry doesn't notice. "I brought him to the Brits with me as his birthday gift last year, if I recall."

"Not about the party," Harry says. "About  _that_!"

By that he means Liam, apparently. He turns Zayn's shoulders and points past his group of friends to where Liam's awkwardly standing against the railing still, sipping what has to be his third bottle of water of the night. For the first time, Zayn wonders if he's wishing he could have something a little stronger, because he looks really out of his element.

"Don't know why he would be," Zayn says dismissively. "And doesn't that make  _you_  jealous? Him being jealous, I mean?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "Why would it?"

Zayn doesn't answer. It's Harry's birthday, and now is not the time to question his and Louis' friends-with-benefits relationship, even if Zayn knows, deep down, that it's going to end badly. That he's going to be stuck like a child whose parents divorced, splitting his time between the two of them when the benefits parts causes the friendship part to crumble.

"Never mind," Zayn says.

At some point Niall butts in, but he doesn't steal Harry from Zayn. Instead he pushes between them until the three of them are practically dancing on each other. If you can call what any of them are doing 'dancing' which Zayn kinda doubts. He's had actual, highly recommended dance coaches, but Zayn still can't dance. He can follow choreography, sure, but free styling? Not his strong point.

By the time the crowd below starts to thin, and Zayn's eyes are starting to droop either from too much alcohol, or just the late hour, everyone slowly starts to leave. Zayn's itching to go, he really is. He loves Harry more than almost anyone in the entire world, but he can only take so much of this scene.

"It's fine," Harry says right in his ear. "Go. Don't feel bad. I'm gonna stay for a bit, though."

Zayn shakes his head. "Not yet. We've still got a few hours before they kick us out. I'll—"

" _Go_." Harry playfully shoves at his shoulders. "You've been eying the exit for the last half hour. I know you, you don't want to be here. It's  _fine_. I'll call you tomorrow, yeah?"

Zayn sucks on his bottom lip and searches Harry's eyes for a moment. They're sparkling green in the flashing lights of the club, bright and filled with happiness and thankfulness. "Yeah, okay," Zayn relents. He presses a sloppy wet kiss to Harry's cheek, just because, and starts pushing past the throng of Harry's closest friends to get to the stairs.

He'd thought that the crowd below was smaller than it really is. And the way Radioactive is set up requires you to walk straight through the dance area to get to the doors. Everywhere, people look at him. He has no idea if they recognize him, or if they're just curious about another pretty face. He ducks his head, doesn't stay to find out.

Down in the crowd, the music seems louder; heavier, too, like thick air pressing down on him. It's so dark that even the flashing lights don't guide the way well enough. He shoulders past people, through tangled bodies and people trying to shout at each other over the music.

Someone shoves him. He's not sure if it's an accident, just a pair of flailing limbs that accidentally connected with his body. It doesn't matter. He blinks, and he's not on the dance floor anymore. He's in that bathroom, cold and blinking up into a pair of icy eyes as someone's foot connects with his stomach. He takes a staggering breath, tries to remember how to exhale, but he can't. He can't remember how to breath, or move, and for a moment that night overlaps with this one. Blink, he's in the club, people pushing against him on all sides. Another blink, he's back in the bathroom. Blink, club. Blink, bathroom.

Hands grab his shoulders. They don't have a painfully hard grip on him, but they're still firm, turning him away from the crowd. Zayn tries to whirl around, tries to pull free, but he can't. Not until he's out of the sea of bodies.

Just like when he'd first met him, the first thing Zayn sees are brown eyes. Only they're not crinkled at the sides and warm like they were then. They're narrowed, so dark they almost look black. Light flashes over Liam's features, and he looks  _pissed_.

"Are you stupid, or just reckless?" Liam shouts at him.

Zayn tries to clear his head, but the music keeps on thumping and he  _can't_. He still can't  _focus_  and he closes his eyes, willing the fog in his mind away, but it won't leave. Without even thinking about it, he grabs a handful of Liam's shirt and struggles to pull air into his lungs.

Liam's expression softens in, just like everything else, the blink of his eyes. He brings a hand up to Zayn's shoulder, gently kneading in a way that's really, really comforting, weirdly enough. Even though, technically, Zayn could have him fired for this. This is so definitely not in the job description, and  _none_  of Zayn's security members have ever touched him like this. Sure, they've manhandled him out of crowds; pushed him out of the way of a threat; physically lifted him to move him. But this is different. This is intimate, warm, friendly or maybe something more.

"You're really bad at your job," Zayn says to Liam, before he turns and starts for the door again." And I'm not letting you hold my hand, so you better keep up," he says, giving Liam only a seconds warning before he ducks into the crowd again.

He hears Liam calling his name, but he steadily continues onwards anyways. This time, there isn't the momentary panic. He doesn't blink and flashback to what happened that night. Maybe it's because that was a one time thing, or maybe it's because he knows that Liam would be there in seconds, and while he's never seen Liam in action, has no idea if he's actually capable of what he's being paid to do, he feels stupidly safe knowing that.

Liam is silent on the car ride back to Zayn's building. His face is carefully blank, and Zayn can't tell if he's annoyed once again because Zayn had walked away from him, or if he's thinking about whatever it was he'd seen in Zayn's eyes that had made him look so concerned for just a moment back there, when he'd rubbed Zayn's arm. Or maybe he's worrying about Zayn firing him.

Liam sees him into the building, politely wishes Zayn a good night, and then leaves. Zayn considers yelling after him, asking, "What? You're not going to check under my bed for monsters, first?" but decides against it.

When he finally falls into his huge king sized bed with the thick, fluffy duvet and the silky sheets, he's so exhausted from the entire night that he doesn't pay Liam Payne another thought.

—

The next time he sees Liam, almost three weeks have passed. He's got a huge promotional interview at a popular radio station, and he doesn't really see why bringing Liam along is necessary. Afterwards, he has a small meet and greet with a few fans. Why can't it just be his normal security? Why must Liam come,  _on top of_  everyone else?

But Zayn doesn't get a say in this, so he stuffs himself into yet another sleek, black car with the normal tinted windows and tries not to pout like a child when Liam gets in beside him. Is Liam his personal bodyguard, or his god damn golden retriever that can't be left home alone without tearing up the couch? He doesn't get it.

"Morning," Liam greets, and yeah, maybe that's why Zayn's in such a pissy mood.

He hates morning. Hates waking up. Hates anything cutting into his precious sleep. And he'd had a late night last night. When you're accustomed to falling asleep well past midnight, it's had to force yourself into an early bedtime even when you  _know_  you're going to regret it the next morning. Zayn knew he was going to regret it, and he does, but that does nothing to change his bad mood.

Instead of answering Liam, he grunts and pushes a pair of sunglasses onto his face, even if the interior of the car is relatively dark already. His phone, in his pocket, suddenly vibrates, and he rolls his eyes to himself before pulling it out.

He doesn't have to check the caller I.D. to know that it's someone from the office, probably calling to confirm that he's on his way. It won't be Willy himself, because he never bothers with the petty things like that. "Hello?"

"Hello, Zayn," says a pleasant, female voice. Eleanor, assistant, receptionist, intern, his PR agent. She's been all of those things during the time Zayn's worked for Storming Records, and he has no idea what her actual, official job is. "Just checking in on you. You're on your way to the station now, yes?"

"Yeah."

"Good. And you brought Mr. Payne with you, correct?"

Zayn looks at Liam through the tinted lenses of his glasses. "Yeah. Though I don't see why. The rest of my security's meeting me there, aren't they? Little redundant to bring him, isn't it?"

"Not at all," Eleanor says swiftly. "It's Mr. Payne's job to accompany you whenever security precautions need to be taken. Even if your entire security staff is already waiting for you at the venue. He's your personal security guard. That means he'll be with you virtually any time you leave the house, Zayn. There will be instances where this isn't necessary, but you might want to get used to having him with you."

"You can't be serious."

"Your physical wellbeing is  _very_  serious, Zayn."

What about his mental wellbeing? "Whatever. Anything else?"

"Remember to put a smile on that pretty face! Other than that, no."

Zayn says goodbye and hangs up, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

"Are you really that upset that I'm here?" Liam asks, catching him off guard.

It throws him off, the way Liam looks like he walked out of a damn Sports Illustrated article, but still seems so quiet and soft around the edges. "No," Zayn says before he can even think through the answer But he is. Just — he can't really blame that on Liam, can he? "It's not you. I'm just bad in the morning before I've had coffee."

Liam looks like he doesn't believe this, but it's not his job to believe what Zayn's says, now is it? He sinks back in his seat and looks out the window again. It's going to be a very long day, and he wonders if Liam is even aware of what he's getting himself into. So far, he's only accompanied Zayn to the club that one time. That had been tame compared to the rest of his life.

When they get to the station, there's a crowd of fans outside. There's signs, ones that have his lips twitching up until he sees a picture of himself when he was, like, fourteen glued to it. Oh god, how did they  _get_  that? He swears he deleted all those off the internet long before he had fans.

"Christ," Liam mumbles, leaning over a bit to peak out Zayn's window.

Zayn lifts his glasses, just enough to give Liam a slightly haughty look. "Get used to it, Cujo," he says. Because if Liam really is going to be his watchdog, they're both going to have to.

Zayn steps from the vehicle. There's already security set up, blocking the fans from the entrance, that way Zayn can get inside safely without being mobbed. He smiles wide, looking around. It still astounds him. It doesn't make sense in his mind. He's not Justin Bieber; he still doesn't get why all it takes, sometimes, is making eye contact and one of his fans will burst into tears. He doesn't get why they all look up to him like he's something more than just a guy who likes to sing. But they do, and it's incredible.

He feels Liam's warmth against his back, close enough even if they're not touching. Zayn moves away from him, tugging a marker from his back pocket. He pulls off the lid and smiles at the nearest girl. She can't be more than thirteen, really, and while he didn't really expect for his music to market to such a young age, that doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate each and every fan.

"What's your name, darling?" he asks.

The girl wipes tears from her eyes and shoves a poster of Zayn's face at him. "I love you so much!" she shouts, either because she has to in order to be heard over the rest of the crowd, or just because she's one of the ones that scream no matter what. "It's Maggie! Oh my  _god_."

Zayn grins at her and quickly writes his signature, before adding,  _Have a lovely day, Maggie_  underneath it. He hands it back to her, and she clutches the poster to her chest, her eyes wide and tear filled. That's all it takes. Thirty seconds, tops, and he's made her entire day. The headache he's going to have tonight from the screaming is worth it.

He stops a few more times on his way in the door, even though the rest of security is trying to urge him inside. Liam actually doesn't bother. He hovers close, but he doesn't try to move Zayn forward, doesn't touch him at all. He's only conscious of Liam's presence because Liam stays just close enough that it'd be impossible  _not_  to notice him.

The door closes behind them, and the sound cuts off abruptly. Zayn slips his glasses off his face, making his way through the carpeted hallway. He's been here before, knows enough of his way around, but there's still an assistant who guides him through the building and briefs him on what's going to happen. Basically he's got half an hour until the show, which means he can do whatever he wants (he spots a coffee machine and a table of donuts and bagels, and he knows exactly what he'll be spending his time doing) for about twenty minutes, by which time he'll be moved into the room where the live radio interview will take place. They'll ask questions, Zayn will answer, they'll do a small segment where he answers calls from his fans, and then they'll promote his new single and the video that comes out in two weeks. After that, he'll be ushered out of the room and into another where he'll meet with a small group of fans who won a contest to meet him. And then, finally, he'll be heading back outside, signing a few more things, and getting in the car to go back home.

Pretty basic, for the most part. He just wants a damn coffee. When he's finally left to his own devices in a small room without any windows, with an overly cushioned couch and that beautiful, wonderful coffee machine, he makes a beeline for the caffeine. There's a small station set up, with creamers and sugars and the works. He dumps a bit of cream into a cup, tops it off with coffee that, admittedly, seems a little stronger brewed than he'd prefer, and takes a sip. Even if it's scalding, he sighs against the burn.

It's as he lowers his cup that he realizes someone's watching him. Liam's hovering in the doorway, looking lost. "What am I supposed to do?" he asks, and Zayn frowns, not sure what he means. "I was told to get you from your apartment, into the building. Now what? Do I just — wait in here? Or is there somewhere else? I don't— I don't know."

Zayn honestly doesn't know either. "Whenever Harry comes with me to do any of this stuff, they just let him hang out here, I guess."

Liam looks uncertain. "But Harry's your friend. I work for you. I think there's a different protocol."

"Yeah, probably," Zayn admits. He reaches for the basket of donuts. "Raspberry, or apple fritter?" He plucks out an apple fritter for himself, and holds the basket for Liam. "They never have any chocolate glazed, unfortunately."

Liam shakes his head. "I don't think I'm supposed to be eating donuts with you."

Zayn thinks that Liam doesn't know what he's supposed to do in general with this job, truthfully, and he's pretty sure that he only got it because he's kind of endearingly charming. That's what had won over Duane, no doubt, and Louis' reasoning pretty obviously had nothing to do with Liam's abilities, either.

"Suit yourself," Zayn says with a shrug. He bites onto the donut so his hands are free, snags another one because he's  _hungry_  and he's been eating a lot of healthy things lately, and carries his coffee over to the couch.

Eventually Liam leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He's got impressive arms, admittedly. The material of his black t-shirt strains against them, and he's got these dark, blocky arrows on his forearm. Not that Liam's arms matter to him at all, really, unless they're being used to keep someone from attacking him or something. Zayn chews his donuts and stops thinking about it all together.

When he's finally escorted out of the room by another assistant, Liam is still leaning awkwardly against the wall, like he's rooted to the spot. Zayn bites the inside of his lip and almost asks Liam if he's okay by himself. But Liam's  _his_  babysitter, not the other way around.

The interview goes as it always does. There's questions, one or two that aren't exactly appropriate, but Zayn chuckles and answers them anyways. There's screaming girls on the phone line, and one single male who only called in to ask what sized shoes he wears. Afterwards, Zayn asks if he has enough time to get a drink before the signing, and within seconds a cold bottle of water is handed to him.

When he gets to the meet and greet room, Liam's already inside. He has no idea who fetched him, but he's once against planted himself firmly against the nearest wall, arms once more crossed over his chest. It'd probably look intimidating, if Zayn didn't know Liam. But he sort of does, casually, and it's hard to find Liam intimidating once you've seen him smile.

He's sat in one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs that remind him of being in a classroom. The table in front of him is longer than he'd be if he laid down, and it's topped with posters, pens, and CDs. Someone asks him if he's ready, he nods, and people filter into the room. There's only about thirty of them, tops. Most are teenage girls, there's one or two guys, and a handful of parents.

Zayn signs things until his fingers are cramped, smiles until the muscles in his face hurt, and nearly gets pulled across the table by one particularly strong twelve year old girl. He looks at Liam when this happens, but instead of looking concerned like Zayn expected, Liam's suppressing a laugh, a hand covering his mouth.

"My life was seriously threatened back there and you  _laughed_ ," Zayn says as they make their way back through the halls. "I should fire you."

Liam gives him a sideways look, lips twitching. "I'll remember to keep an eye out for tiny girls in dresses in the future. Wouldn't want you to get hurt."

Zayn puts on his glasses and suppresses a grin of his own as the doors open. Lights flash from cameras, there's screaming on all sides, and his sunglasses do little to actually keep the sun out of his eyes. The whole time they're outside, moving slowly but steadily towards the car, he feels a warm hand on the small of his back.

—

"You know who's hot? Daniel Sharman. He could. He definitely could."

Zayn sighs to himself and shovels another piece of broccoli into his mouth. He's trying to eat healthier, since his tour starts in the middle of April, and everyone likes him to be in his best shape for when he starts getting on stage every night. Which is why he's eating broccoli. Broccoli is super healthy. Although, admittedly, smothering it in cheese probably isn't, but whatever.

"Did you seriously come over here just to watch Teen Wolf?" he asks of Louis, who's sprawled across Zayn's couch like he owns it. Or like he was invited, which he wasn't.

Louis tears his eyes away from the screen only long enough to make a face at Zayn. "I can't be at my place," he says dismissively.

Zayn frowns at him. "Why not?"

Louis sighs, all dramatics. He sits up and tugs on the strings of his sweatpants. "Hair date," he mumbles. Or that's what it sounds like.

"What was that?'

"Harry has a  _date_ ," Louis snaps. "Wanted me out of the flat by the time he got back, probably so he could have  _sex_  or something. I don't know. Stop asking me questions, Zayn, Scott McCall is speaking."

Zayn lets it go, placating himself with a promise to call Harry tomorrow morning. That way he can get the details himself, and also do his best to mend whatever happened between Harry and Louis that would make Harry go out with someone else. Not that it's his relationship, or his problem, but they're opening the European part of his tour in less than three months, and he sort of needs their band to not fall apart.

"This is why you shouldn't have sex with your friends," Zayn mutters to himself.

Louis, with his freaky bat-like hearing, glares at him for a long moment before he sighs and turns his gaze back to the television. There's no arguing with that, and they both know it.

"You know what would cheer me up?" Louis asks abruptly. "If you called that gorgeous bodyguard of yours to come over and hang out with us."

Zayn looks up at him, lips parted. He hasn't seen Liam in almost a week. Alright, four days. Not that he's been counting, okay? His life is scheduled down to the minute, practically, and he remembers the exact date of his last interview, which is totally normal and has absolutely nothing to do with Liam or his stupid arms or… or  _anything_.

The only upside to this 'Have Liam With You Everywhere You Go' thing is that Zayn doesn't really go anywhere often. He either eats takeout every night or orders groceries online, for the most part. He doesn't get much time off, really, and when he  _does_  he spends as much of it as he can in his apartment.

"No," Zayn says simply.

"Isn't it his job to be at your beck and call? Couldn't you just ring him and get him over here?"

"No."

Louis scoffs at him and reaches for Zayn's cellphone, which he'd left on the coffee table after talking to his mum this morning. Zayn jumps out of the recliner instantly, but Louis' climbing over the back of his couch (his expensive couch that costs more than any couch has any right to) and flicking through his contacts.

"There he is," he says happily, and Zayn watches with dread as he presses the call button. He extends the phone to Zayn. "You might as well invite him over. You could hang up, but I'm sure he's got caller I.D. and he's going to call back anyways."

Zayn snatches the phone out of his hand and closes his eyes as he brings it up to his ear. It rings only once before Liam answers with an almost alarmed sounding, "Zayn?"

"Uh, hey." He winces at how awkward he sounds and gives Louis the finger for putting him through this.

"Did you need something?" Liam wonders.

 _No_. "Um. Do you remember Louis? From the club, and —"

"Course," Liam says instantly. "Be kind of hard to forget him, don't you think?"

Zayn wishes he could, really. Louis' silently laughing, looking way too pleased by how uncomfortable Zayn feels about this whole thing. "Right. Well he, um, wanted to know if you wanted to…" Zayn trails off, an idea sparking in his head. "Sorry, did I say Louis? I meant Harry. The one who I threw the party for? Kinda tall, semi-curly hair, green eyes. He thinks your extremely fit, right? And he asked me if I could maybe see if you were available on Friday to go see a movie or something."

Louis punches his arm. It hurts, but it's worth it.

"Oh," Liam says softly. "I — I'm flattered, honestly. It's just that… I don't really think that I should be having that kind of relationship with any of your friends. It'd be too risky."

Zayn frowns, forgetting for a moment that this is just a joke that he's playing to piss Louis off (which is working, if the pinched look on Louis' face is any indication). "Risky?"

"Well, it's just that— you're my boss, right? But more than that, it's my job to protect you. And I can't be protecting you if, say, we're in public with your friends and I'm too busy laughing at something Louis says. Or, I'm not going to notice a potential threat if you and I are having a conversation and I'm caught up in listening to what you're saying, right? So I think it's best if we all just have a strictly business relationship."

Business relationship? Where did this formal Liam even come from? Because this sounds nothing like the guy who'd come with him to the club for Harry's birthday, or to the interview the other day. He's still polite, but he sounds distant and his tone is clipped, and Zayn wonders if something happened.

And then he remembers. Remembers the phone call he'd had with Eleanor not long after the interview, once he'd been dropped off yet again at his building. She'd asked him how Liam was working out, and Zayn had laughed bitterly because he was still annoyed at everyone for pushing him into this. And then he'd said… what was it? "I think he has no idea what he's supposed to be doing."

"Is this about— Did El call you?" Zayn blurts.

The line is quiet for a moment. "I spoke with one of your representatives, yes. But I'm sort of busy at the moment, Zayn. So unless you need me for work, I'm going to have to let you go."

"Okay," Zayn says slowly. "But, wait, Liam. If — I'll talk to Eleanor, I shouldn't have—"

"Goodbye, Zayn."

Zayn stares down at the phone, shocked. Liam hung up on him. No one hangs up on him. He'd done it politely, but still. The only person who  _ever_  hangs up on him happens to be standing in his living room right now, but Louis tends to be the exception to everything.

"What happened?" Louis demands. "Did he agree to go out with Harry? I can't believe you'd—"

"He hung up on me," Zayn says, and it sounds even weirder out loud than it did in his head.

Louis looks almost as surprised as he feels. "Shit," he breathes. "Good for Liam. Didn't think he had it in him."

Zayn glares at him and decides to have a conversation with the doorman about never allowing Louis inside ever again.

—

There's an uncomfortable atmosphere in the car. The last two times, Liam had been reserved but still friendly. Today, he's sitting rigidly in his seat, hands on his legs, bunching up the fabric of his jeans. He's staring intently out the window, like Zayn always does, with a bored, annoyed look on his face.

Two can play at that game, Zayn thinks. Because he's not any happier at the moment. He just wants to do some shopping. He needs a new pair of shoes, maybe a few shirts because most of what he currently has in his closet right now is sweaters, since he donates his clothes to charity every couple months and he doesn't have anything that's suited to the current weather. Shopping is something he used to do alone, for the most part. Now Liam has to follow him from store to store.

So Zayn resolutely stares out the window. When they get to the shopping district, the car drops them off in front of one of Zayn's favourite shops. It'll pick them back up here in about an hour and a half, or whenever Zayn calls.

He gets out of the car, not sparing a glance for Liam, and heads straight into the shop. It's cool inside, cooler than it was outside, and he's grateful for the thick red sweater he's wearing. He hears the door open behind him, but he doesn't turn to check if it's Liam.

Two stores later, and Zayn's mood is considerably worse. The clouds overhead are gray, and he thinks it's fitting. Liam is like a mannequin that he sees in every store. He spends the whole time silently brooding with his arms crossed, watching Zayn and the rest of the room carefully, never speaking. Twice, Zayn asks him his opinion on something, and Liam just grunts at him.

He's spent years in this business, and while Zayn isn't exactly what you'd call a diva, he's been around enough of them to know the behaviour. And if Liam wants to act like a petulant child, so can Zayn.

"Carry these for me," he snaps, shoving his bags in Liam's direction.

Liam glares at him. "That's not my job. My job is —"

"To protect me," Zayn finishes with a roll of his eyes. "Whatever. Protect me while carrying my bags."

"I can't do my job if I'm carrying your stuff," Liam points out.

Zayn huffs out a breath and stomps away from him, struggling a bit because, really, his bags are actually a bit heavy. He pushes out the door of the store they're in, and purposefully swings the door behind him. It nearly hits Liam, but his hand reaches out to stop it, unfortunately.

"I'm stopping to get something to drink," Zayn decides when they pass a Starbucks. "I need a break from carrying all this shit."

Liam takes one look inside the shop and snorts. "We're not going in there."

Zayn freezes. "Excuse me?"

"We're not going in there," Liam repeats. He jerks his head at the all-windowed from of the store. As soon as Zayn looks, a camera flash blinds him momentarily. Immediately, Liam grabs his arm and starts pulling him forward. "Too public. Come on."

Zayn tries to pull his arm away. "You can't tell me where I can or cannot—"

"ZAYN!"

"Oh my  _god_  is that Zayn Malik?!"

"I love you!"

Okay, so maybe Liam has a point.

The sound of pounding footsteps echoes behind them, and Liam groans before pulling Zayn along faster. They turn a corner, and Zayn's already breathless. Damn, he's out of shape. And these stupid bags aren't helping. Why did he think he needed three pairs of shoes? He was wrong.

Liam looks around when they're around the corner, and he apparently sees something because he continues to tug Zayn along, across the street and into a random shop. Zayn doesn't fight him on it at all. He might be bratty, when it comes to Liam, but he's not stupid. He knows when to fight and when certain battles are already lost, and this is one of those times.

"We need a car at— Did you see the name of this place?"

Zayn looks around. The smell of food is heavy in the air, and he inhales without thinking. He didn't read the name before they came in, but he finds it easily. There's many small tables littered around the room, and there's takeout menus in little holders on each. Zayn tugs one out while eying the Asian woman behind the counter.

"Chinese," Zayn says considering.

"Yeah, I got that," Liam snaps. "Name? Or address? So I can get us a car and get us out of here."

Zayn turns and looks out the window that's mostly covered by paint that states the restaurants specials, as well as a swirling red dragon. He can barely see outside past all of it, and he doubts many people can see  _inside_. And there aren't any screaming girls passing by the store, or even across the street.

Zayn returns his gaze to the menu. "Definitely want egg rolls. Not sure what else."

Slowly, Liam lowers his phone. "What?"

Zayn shrugs at him, stuffs the menu in his back pocket and drops his bags beside Liam before approaching the front counter. It's the kind of place where you order and pick up your food, only a few spots to really stay in and eat, and definitely no table-to-table service. Zayn doesn't mind. He's just starving, and he's been eating healthy shit all week. He wants to gorge himself, staying in shape be damned.

"I'll get someone to help you," the woman behind the counter says. Zayn nods and examines the menu up on the wall, much lengthier than the small paper one on the table.

A moment later a younger girl comes out, hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She pulls out a pen from where it was tucked behind her ear and poises it over her notepad before looking up at him. When she does, Zayn prays that she doesn't recognize him. But she does. It's clear in the widening of her eyes and the way she stutters out, "How-how can I help you?"

"We're just looking for somewhere quiet to eat," Zayn explains, praying that she gets what he means. Praying that she isn't like that one waitress that served him and Harry a few months back ago at that shitty Italian place that had apparently tweeted to all her friends that Zayn was there, because next thing they new, the place was swamped. "What's good here? The menu's a little daunting."

"Everything," the girl says swiftly. "They're all family recipes. It depends on what you like, really."

"I'll trust your judgement," Zayn says with a grin. "Order me your favourites. Enough to feed two. Two that are  _really_  hungry. I don't care about the price. Oh, and we need something to drink, too."

"Um." The girl looks down at her notepad before meeting his gaze again. "You're sure?" Zayn nods. "Okay. That'll probably be about twenty minutes." She presses thing on the cash register. "And it'll be twenty-two seventy nine. And, um… an autograph, maybe? It's totally okay if you don't want to. Like, really, say no, I shouldn't have even asked, I—"

Zayn holds out his hands for her pen and paper, and she hands them over with a dazed look. He quickly scribbles his name, adds  _Better be good_  with a smiley face, and hands it back to her. He digs around in his pocket, pulls out his wallet, and hands her a few bills.

When he's got his change, he turns to find Liam literally right behind him. Close enough that he almost bumps into him. "What are you doing?" he hisses.

Zayn shoulders past him and sinks down into the nearest chair. "What's it look like? I'm getting something to eat."

"The car will be here in like five minutes," Liam says pointedly.

"Well my food won't be done for like twenty, so it's going to have to wait."

Liam lets out an exasperated breath before sliding into the seat across from him. He folds his hands on the table and gives Zayn a pensive look. Zayn returns it with a bored one of his own. Behind them, he can hear things banging around in the kitchen, and his stomach growls.

"I don't know what you want from me," Liam says finally. "I try to do my job and be friendly with you, and you complain about me. And then I try to do it while  _not_  talking to you, and you complain  _to_  me, and then act like — like—"

Zayn plays with the salt shaker on the table. "Like what?" he asks sweetly.

"You know what," Liam says lowly. He drops his gaze to his hands. "I know you don't want me to be your bodyguard, and I know you don't have any say in it. So after today, I'll quit. That way I won't have to ruin your life anymore than I already have."

Zayn tries not to look as taken aback as he feels. It's one thing for him to think things when he's annoyed, to get angry at the fact that Liam's got to accompany him everywhere in his mind. It's another when he's gone so far as to make Liam feel like he has to quit. He didn't mean to do that. None of this — none of this is  _Liam's_  fault.

The attitude today was, yes, but the rest of it? The other days? That was all on Zayn. "I'm sorry," he lets slip before he's even consciously made the decision to apologize. "I — shit, it's not your fault, okay? It's mine. I didn't want a bodyguard because I'm a really private person. When I'm not working, I like to  _not be working._ I like to be able to just… do whatever I want with my friends and not have to worry. And having security with me 24/7 makes that really hard. Not to mention the fact that it's not even necessary, really, and—"

"I get it," Liam says, cutting him off. "Like I said, I'll quit. I'm sorry for inconveniencing you."

Zayn rubs a hand over his face, surprising a groan. "I just said it's not you, yeah? It's  _not_ , Liam. You're — nice. Not today, but normally. And I'm sure you're really great at your job." Liam slowly lifts his gaze. "I shouldn't have taken any of this out on you, but I did because I can be kind of a brat when it comes to certain things, and this is apparently one of them. But… but I don't want you to quit, okay? Because if you quit, they'll stick me with someone else, and I have a feeling I'll like them a lot less than you."

A hesitant smile tugs at Liam's lips. "Is that your way of admitting that you like me?"

Maybe he does, kind of. He doesn't know all that much about Liam, but what he's seen has been likable, admittedly. And if circumstances were differently, Zayn could easily see himself being friends with someone like Liam. "I guess," he mumbles. "A bit. Maybe."

Liam grins and drums his fingers on the table. Zayn would roll his eyes at the pleased look on his face if he didn't like it so much. "Oh," Liam says suddenly. "I'm sorry, too. I've been a dick today, and I shouldn't have been."

Zayn raises an eyebrow. "I thought you were just trying to do your job."

Liam winces sheepishly. "I can do my job and be nice to you."

A soft smile settles over Zayn's lips.

When their food is ready, it's brought to their table, along with two cold cups of Coke. Zayn sips his quickly before digging in. He's so freaking hungry right now, it's ridiculous. And the food is good, even if he can name only half of what he's eating.

For a big guy, Liam eats carefully. They've got a bunch of dishes spread out before them, and they're sharing everything, but Liam only eats from one or two plates. The moment he gets adventurous, reaching for the spicy chicken that Zayn's been devouring in a probably unflattering way, his eyes widen and he starts coughing.

"Oh my God," he wheezes, reaching for his drink. He sucks it down, emptying half the glass in one go. "You could have warned me! I feel like I just stuck my face in a fire."

Zayn laughs, he can't help it. "What? Can't handle a little heat?" he teases.

Liam laughs at himself, too, but the sound dies quickly. His face gets serious, and he stabs at a piece of pork while frowning down at the plate. "You're different than I thought, you know."

Zayn's heard these words a million times. "Let me guess: you expected some stuck up, rude guy who bosses everyone around and expects everyone to kiss the ground he walks on?"

"No," Liam says quickly, shaking his head. "No, I didn't. But I didn't think you'd be this… real, either."

"Real," Zayn repeats. It sounds foreign on his tongue. "Real  _how_ , exactly?"

Liam shrugs, smiles down at his plate. "We're sitting in a two star restaurant, eating cheap, probably seriously bad for us Chinese food, and you've got sweet and sour sauce on your face." Another shrugs. "Not what I expected."

"Where?" Zayn demands, wiping at his face. He rubs around his mouth, doesn't feel anything, while Liam laughs at him.

"Left side of your chin," Liam offers, and Zayn grabs a napkin before wiping at the spot. "You got it."

Zayn tries to ignore the fact that he's probably flushed red right now. "Thanks."

Liam's grin gets lopsided, pulling up more on the left side. He carefully puts down his fork, leans forward a bit, and asks, "So now that we've confirmed you don't hate me, can I ask you one thing?"

"Sure."

"Okay." Liam clears his throat. "Usher. Tell me  _everything_."

—

It happened because he decided to get smashed. He knows it, too, and he knows that it's his fault.

They're not at Radioactive. Harry and the lads wanted just a normal night out. Not a night where every prospective girl or guy in the place was making eyes at Zayn and Zayn only. Somewhere Zayn could blend in (the others never have that problem, sadly, because they're popular, sure, but they're not household-names popular) and act, for just a little while, like a normal person. Maybe a University student, home from school because of Spring Break, partying with his old friends.

And Liam would just be some overly interested guy who's trying to work up the courage to ask Zayn if he can buy him a drink, not his bodyguard. His bodyguard who kept giving him concerned looks every time Zayn met his eyes (which is why Zayn stopped doing that a while ago).

The place they were at was kinda dingy. It's not as nice or as flashy as Radioactive, and the crowd was a lot less selective. And Zayn loved it the moment he'd stepped in side.

A few too many drinks, a bit too much dancing with both Harry and Niall later, and he got why Harry insisted he bring Liam, just in case.

Up until that point, Liam had just been some guy who unnecessarily follows him around. Up until that point, Zayn thought that Liam's presence was pointless and definitely not needed. Because, up until that point, that had been true. There hadn't been any real incidents, as long as you don't count what happened on Harry's birthday, which Zayn doesn't because he hadn't been in any danger from anything but his own mind.

Now — now he gets it. Gets why Liam's being paid to step in front of Zayn every time someone potentially threatening comes his way.

While it happens because he's drunk, it can also be totally, one hundred percent blamed on Louis. They were stuffed into a booth, Zayn downing another shot because he felt warm and loose and he didn't want that feeling to go away. And Louis had offered his hand with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows and a mockingly flirtatious, "Dance with me, Zayn. Dance with me like this night will never end and our love will burn for a million years."

And, really, who could say no to that? So he'd giggled and slipped out of the booth, and Louis had taken his hand and tugged him forward, and he'd started to drag Zayn onto the dance floor. Only he wasn't looking behind him, and Zayn — his brain was so foggy he wasn't paying attention. Louis knocked into someone, the guy had turned around, and he'd been pissed. And Louis — fucking Louis, he can't let things go. If there's one person in the entire world who doesn't know when to walk away, it's Louis. Which is why it's a good thing that Harry's normally with him, because Harry's smart enough to pick his battles, and to stop these kinds of things from happening.

There was shouting, Zayn can't remember the exact details, and suddenly the guy Louis bumped into had back-up. One of them had cocked his head to the side and regarded Zayn with a confused look until realization had flashed into his eyes.

"Aren't you that popstar— what's it? Zayn, right?" he'd asked, a smirk making its way onto his face.

"No fucking shit," the guy Louis had pushed said.

At that point, Louis had started slowly backing away, Zayn's arm in his hand. But Zayn just  _laughed_. He fucking laughed and said, "Why, you want an autograph, mate?"

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. The next thing he knew, he was stumbling backwards, shoulders prickling from someone's fingertips that had dug in too hard. And then Liam had stepped in front of him. For a stupid moment there, Zayn forgot about Liam's job, and for some reason he'd tried to put himself between Liam and the threat. As if the entire point of Liam being there wasn't to keep him safe.

After that — it's kind of a blur. He thinks he remembers Liam trying to be reasonable, telling the guys to back off while simultaneously waving for Louis to move Zayn back, which he had. And then there was a blur of movement, and in his memory it's like a scene from a superhero movie, because Liam had somehow managed to grab the guy's fist before it connected with anything. But when Liam threw his punch, it definitely connected.

And now… now he's stuffed into the backseat of a cab, which doesn't even fit them all, so Louis and Harry had stayed behind to catch the next one. And Liam's knuckles are red and he's looking very unimpressed. Zayn is still so drunk, and this is just a serious damper on his mood.

"I'm sorry," he says for what feels like the millionth time, but has to be at least the tenth time. "I'm sorry, Liam. I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" Liam asks, looking genuinely baffled. He hears a grunt of agreement, but he can't tell if it comes from Niall or Josh. "It's literally my job to do what happened back there. You've got nothing to apologize for."

Zayn groans because, damn it, Liam, he's trying to apologize here! Can't he just let Zayn feel guilty? "It wouldn't have… have happened if I… if I didn't drink," Zayn insists, the words stumbling ineloquently out of his mouth. "If I hadn't  _laughed_  and offered them an autograph like a tool—"

"Seriously?" This time it's definitely Niall. "I hope someone got that on video. I'm searching Youtube when I get home."

Zayn ignores him, looking insistently into Liam's eyes. He  _wants_  Liam to be upset with him, is the thing. He deserves it, and he knows it, and they  _all know it_ , so why can't Liam just snap at him and get it over with? "We coulda walked away. But I didn't and I'm—"

"Say sorry one more time and I quit," Liam says, both teasing and stern. "Seriously, though. Not your fault. It happens. Hell, I'm actually a little pumped up from that. Most excitement I've had since you hired me."

Drunkenly, Zayn decides that Liam Payne is an idiot. And possibly a superhero in disguise. If he's still around on his birthday (which Zayn realizes he doesn't even know, and he's going to have to ask eventually because he  _wants_  to know) Zayn is totally having him a costume made. Something with a giant L on it. And tights. Definitely tights. It'll be great.

"Totally great," Zayn mumbles. "Spandex."

"What?" Liam asks.

Zayn pats his leg. "You've got the thighs for it." And then he lays his head on the window and closes his eyes, the fog that settled in his mind after the seventh or eighth drink finally pulling him under.

—

Partying always seems like a good idea at the time, but rarely can he ever say that it was worth the way he feels the morning after. The first thing he does is stumble out of his bed, clutching every piece of furniture he passes on his way to keep himself upright, and head straight for his bathroom. He'd had enough to drink last night it's all coming up the second he gets to the toilet, but for some reason that wasn't enough to erase his memories.

He reaches for sink and turns it on, cupping his hands to fill them with water. He rinses out his mouth, then grabs his toothbrush. When he's done, he takes one look in the mirror before turning around abruptly. He looks like hell. He's pale, lips starkly pink against his skin, and his eyes look sunken into his face.

He rubs at his temples, trying not to replay last night in his head, but he can't help it. The drinking, dancing, the fight, Liam stepping in. The car ride afterwards, when he started acting like a fucking idiot. God, Liam was right. That was his  _job_. Zayn shouldn't have been acting like — like a boyfriend who just watched his partner get into a fight and kept worrying about whether or not he was okay. Because Liam's job is to make sure Zayn's okay, and there is no vice versa in this situation. And it's going to happen plenty of times in the future, he knows. He's going to get used to watching Liam walk straight into the line of fire with the pretence of keeping Zayn out of it.

The word spandex bumps around in Zayn's mind, and he considers throwing up again.

All he can do is pray that everyone chalks that whole thing up to the alcohol. That's what he's gonna do, because he has no idea why the fuck he acted like that. Really. He doesn't. It's unfathomable in his mind and his head hurts to much to  _try_  to fathom it.

When he gets back to his room, he grabs his cellphone out of his jeans, which he'd apparently thrown on the floor in abandon last night. He's got twelve new messages. Two are from Harry, one from each of the other lads, a few from people he doesn't regularly talk to. (Or, who he doesn't regularly  _reply_  to, but they talk to  _him_  often.) And finally one message from Liam.

It takes him a long moment, spent with his lip worrying between his teeth, to open it. When he does, he isn't sure what to think or feel.

_Hope your feeling ok after last nite : )_

What the fuck is that supposed to even mean? If it were Louis, the answer would be clear: definite sarcasm and teasing. If it were Harry or Josh, it'd be genuine. If it were Niall it'd be ' _lol happy hangover'_. But it's Liam and Zayn doesn't know him enough to decipher it. He really could just be politely wishing that Zayn isn't feeling as horrible as he is. Or he could be  _concerned_  about the fact that Zayn could be sick. Or he could be making fun of Zayn for everything that happened last night.

Shaking his head, Zayn tosses his phone onto his bed and bends down underneath it. He pulls out the box hidden there, much more careful with it than he had been with his phone as he places it on the bed. When he pops the lid off, he stares at the contents for a moment.

The box itself is old and worn. That's what happens when you keep something for years and years, constantly using it and moving it. In fact, the lid barely fits on it anymore. The sides are warped and it takes effort to get it back on every time. And he could replace it, if he wanted. The box itself isn't really significant. It used to hold a pair of shoes that his mum bought him when he was thirteen, but even the logo has worn off by now.

Zayn sits on his bed, legs crossed, and digs through the box. Mostly, it's just a bunch of notebooks. There's seven of them total, each one cheap and flimsy and most of them just as creased and warn as his box, mostly because they'd been opened and closed a million times. Only the newest two are in good shape, really.

Underneath the notebooks there's an assortment of pens and pencils. There's also an old, folded family picture from when he was younger, back when all his sisters (except Doniya, of course) were still so young. His own face back then is kinda chubby, and he's got a horrible haircut that he cringes at every time he looks, but he loves the picture.

Finally there's three empty gum packages, as well as a new one that he remembers dropping in there a month or two ago. He pulls that out, pops two into his mouth, and grabs the newest notebook. He flips through it, passing page after page of scribbled, crossed out writing, the occasional thing that he deemed worthy enough to keep, ragged edges from where he'd ripped out an entire page or two, and a handful of doodles that he'd done while he was distracted. When he gets to the end, he places the notebook on the bed, grabs a pen, and waits.

And waits. And nothing comes to him. He hasn't written a damn fucking thing in… in a long time. He remembers his first album, how it had consisted of a collection of songs that he'd written between the time he was fourteen and eighteen. It'd been hard, in the studio, with people shooting down song after song because there were so  _many_. And, he can admit, some of them  _weren't_  good. But they'd managed to pick out a total of twenty usable songs, and then shortened the list down to twelve for the official album.

His second album he'd wrote with intent. It wasn't just him fucking around in his room when he was bored, or in his backyard during the summer because his friends were busy and his parents weren't home and he had nothing better to do. It took thought. It took  _effort_. And it wasn't exactly easy, but it wasn't exactly hard, either, because there was so much in his life that was new to him, so much to pull emotions and words from. He'd written that entire album in the time between his first album drop and the end of his first tour. It had taken longer to get the studio time to produce it, and then they'd waited a couple months to drop it, and it hadn't come out until about a year ago.

And then there's his third album. Wrote between the end of writing the second one, and the release date of the second one. There's more songs on that album, than any of the others, that he hadn't written himself. In the first album, there's only one. The second one, there's three pop, dancey songs. On the third, there's  _six_  songs that he hadn't written himself.  _Six_. Which still grates him because he'd rather have more time to write than put out something that didn't  _mean_  anything to him.

But now… he hasn't written a new song in about seven, eight months. And the last one he did write is something he's not even comfortable showing anyone, it's that bad. He skims over it, scratches out parts that he finds completely ridiculous, and he's left with— two lines. Two. Fucking. Lines. That's all that's usable. He might as well just scrap the whole fucking thing.

The issue, of course, is that he's expected to have a list of songs ready to show in just a few months. He's got until the end of his tour, at the latest, and he's so fucked because he's got  _nothing_. And he's  _trying_. Fuck, he's trying. He just  _can't_.

He pulls out the gum and pops another piece into his mouth. This is a three piece problem, at least. Maybe four.

Zayn may or may not be a stress-chewer. It's the reason for all the empty packets in the box. (There actually used to be about twelve, but he'd cleaned it out a few months ago and now he's back to about four.) It's a bad habit. Not because it's all that bad for you, really. He likes the minty, less sugary gums, but it's not the gum itself that's bad. It's his dependency on it. He literally can't get on stage without chewing a piece of gum first. Once (in Dallas, he thinks it was) he'd forgotten his pack at the hotel, and he'd refused to go on stage until someone (an assistant? He can't remember) located a pack that someone had in their pocket. It's worse than the cigarettes, he thinks.

He sits there on his bed, things spread out in front of him, with a giant wad of gum in his mouth and his pen poised over the paper. And he writes the word fuck over and over until it fills half a page, and then he rips it out, bunches it up, tosses it away and shuts the notebook. He pinches the bridge of his nose and prays that next time, next time he'll have something to write. He'll have a  _reason_  to write. Because right now he can't muster up anything. He just feels… tired.

When he's got everything put away and once again hidden under his bed, he turns on the TV in his room and flips through the channels, wishing for something to grab his attention. Nothing does, but someone knocks at his door, at least.

He goes to get out of bed, but the three short knocks are quickly followed by someone unlocking the door. Zayn lays back down. There's only one person in the world who has a key to his apartment, and that happens to be Harry.

"Zayn?"

"Bedroom," Zayn calls. He looks down at himself, realizing he's still in just a pair of boxers, since that's all he'd worn last night. He also probably smells like alcohol and sweat and smoke, too, so he gets up and tugs on a clean t-shirt that smells like laundry soap just before his bedroom door opens. "Hey."

"Hey," Harry says, perching on the edge of his bed.

He sounds weird, his voice thick. Zayn turns, eyebrows drawing together, to find Harry with his hands folded in his lap and his eyes all red-rimmed. "What happened?" he asks immediately, going over to the bed.

"Nothing," Harry lies. He sits straighter and forces a smile onto his face. And then that poor façade cracks. He slumps forward, head tilting back, probably to keep the tears from sliding down his face. "I'm sorry, I'm trying not to be upset about it but I can't stop and I just— I needed to be with someone. I'm sorry."

Zayn's chest hurts. There isn't anything worse, he thinks, in the entire world than seeing someone you care about upset. He reaches out, rubbing Harry's arm. "Hey, it's fine. It's okay. Just — what happened?"

Harry wipes at his eyes and groans. "You  _left_. Last night, you all left. So I was stuck in a car with him, and I was drunk, and I thought, you know, maybe I could initiate something. So I leaned over, and we kissed, and it was totally normal until he pushed me away. And then he said —" Harry pauses, taking a shuddering breath. "— we can't anymore, because he's seeing someone. Said that it was bound to happen eventually anyways, and it's better that it happened this way because if we kept things up, one of us would probably end up  _feeling something_  and it would ruin our friendship. He just kept saying — 'Friends, yeah? Best friends, Harry. Friends is good.'"

Zayn's mind whirls back to the other day, with Louis on his couch being upset because Harry had a date. What are the two of them doing with each other? It's so ridiculous, and they're causing themselves and each other so much unnecessary grief.

"Harry," he says quietly. "I—"

"How many times?" Harry says loudly. "How many times do you think he was with me and thinking about someone else? How many times do you think he came home and crawled into my bed after being with someone else? How do you think that makes me feel?"

Zayn honestly doesn't know what to say to that.

"Never mind," Harry mutters. He grabs Zayn's hand. "I don't want to talk about it. I'll get over it. I just needed to not be at home, and to be with you instead."

Zayn squeezes his fingers. "You're welcome to stay as long as you need, you know."

Harry nods and tucks his head into the crook of Zayn's neck. "You're the best mate I have," he says. "You're just… you're a great person, Zayn. Nothing to do with who you are, like how many records you've sold or arenas you've played at. I mean here—" he pats Zayn's chest. "— you're just good. You're great."

Harry is the mushiest person Zayn knows, expect  _maybe_  Niall when he's really, really plastered. "Thanks. You're not bad yourself, Harry."

Harry lets out a frustrated sound and pulls back. He rubs a hand over his face and looks away from Zayn, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry," he pants. "I'm probably being annoying."

"It's fine," Zayn assures him. "Really, Harry."

"I know," Harry admits. "That's why I came here. Well, that and the fact that my best friend slash the guy I've been hooking up with just told me he'd rather be with someone else."

"He's an idiot," Zayn says firmly. "Completely insane."

Harry nods, though he looks doubtful, as he falls back onto Zayn's bed, sprawling with his limbs spread out.

Zayn falls back too, until they're a tangle of limbs, separated only by mind, not body. Harry sighs contentedly, head somewhere by Zayn's pillows, while Zayn's is nearly hanging off the huge bed. "You'll be fine," Zayn says softly. "You will be."

"Yeah," Harry admits. "Eventually."

They lay like that for a while, shifting only to get more comfortable and so Zayn can turn the TV up. It's got to be at least an hour later when someone knocks at the door at they both sit up, stretching and yawning.

"Who's that?" Harry wonders.

The thing is, only about ten people ever come to his apartment. Of those ten, only four live in the city. And one of those four is on his bed, so there's a pretty high chance that Louis' on the other side of his door. He must make this obvious, because Harry's expression falls and he stands up, running a jerky hand through his hair.

"You know, I actually have some stuff I need to do," he says. "I should probably leave anyways."

Zayn sighs and heads for the door and into the rest of the apartment. "You don't have to leave. If it's him, I'll tell him to go away."

Harry shakes his head, following closely behind him. "Don't. It's fine. You're his friend, too, and I don't want you to feel like you have to pick sides. And I'll call you tonight anyways. Might just need a place to crash, if I can't make myself go home."

Zayn pauses just in front of his door. "Are you sure?"

Harry nods. He kisses Zayn's cheek. "And thanks, you made me feel loads better. Don't worry about me. I'll be alright."

"Okay."

Zayn pulls open his door. The moment it's open about an inch, someone pushes it the rest of the way open. Niall strides into his apartment, Josh in tow, Louis taking up the rear.

"Hey!" Niall says happily, slapping Harry's arm as he passes. "We've been trying to call ya for the last hour. Movie night." He holds up to DVD cases in his hand. "You ready?"

Zayn's eyes widen. "No," he says firmly. "No. Not at my place again. I told you guys after last time, no more movie nights. And it's not even the afternoon."

Niall shrugs and Josh says, "We're all hungover. Doesn't matter what time it is. And Harry and Lou's apartment's too small, and ours is too trashed to have people over."

"'s true," Niall adds from the couch, where he's already spread out. "Josh is a slob."

Zayn tunes them out, focusing on Harry and Louis. Harry's still beside him, and Louis is still in the hallway with his head ducked. Abruptly, Harry takes a steadying breath and says, "Sorry, I've got plans. Have fun without me."

Zayn watches him shoulder past Louis and disappear, and then it's just the two of them. Louis blinks up at him with a vulnerable look in his eyes, like he's expecting Zayn to yell at him. "Am I allowed in, or—?"

"Are you going to fix that?" Zayn counters.

Louis sighs at him. "Can't you just be  _my_  friend for one minute? Do you really think that this shit doesn't get to me as much as it does to him?"

Zayn pushes his door open wider, and Louis gives him a grateful grin before stepping inside.

Three hours later, and Zayn's stuck on his sofa, one again trapped between two people. Only this time it's Niall and Josh, and he's got a bowl of popcorn in his lap. At first, this seemed like a good thing, because he had control over the popcorn and he could stop the two of them from eating it all before he's even had a handful. But after the third time that the two of them reached for some and accidentally brushed their hands and burst out with, "Oh, sorry." "I'm sorry, you go first." "Nah, it's cool, you go ahead." "No, you." Zayn has started to see the downside of this.

At one point, during some movie with Jennifer Lawrence that he isn't really following, Niall's arm goes around his shoulder. And then, not long after, Josh yawns, stretches, and does the same. They both jump, someone slaps the back of his head on accident, Josh elbows him in the shoulder, and Zayn gets up.

"Get out," he says.

"The movie's not even half over!" Louis protests from the recliner, where Zayn had  _wanted_  to sit.

"I don't care. Out. All of you. Now."

He's had enough. Last night, he'd gotten drunk and told Liam he'd look good in spandex. This morning, he woke up with a hangover and threw up everything he'd eaten the day before. His writers block has yet to go away. His best friend cried on his shoulder because his  _other_  friend has decided to nix the benefits part of their friends with benefits relationship. And lastly, his other two friends just spent the last three hours practically flirting right on top of him. He's just so done with today, all together. And it's only, like, four in the afternoon.

"Okay," Josh says slowly. "Sorry, Zayn."

"It's fine," Zayn grits out. "Just —"

"Go," Niall finishes. "On it. But I'm taking the popcorn."

On their way out the door, Louis gives him an apologetic look that Zayn returns with a blank one of his own. And then he falls onto his couch and closes his eyes, wishing he was tired enough to fall asleep, but he feels wired. Wired, and annoyed, and he actually really, really needs to get out of this apartment.

He grabs his phone from his bedroom and calls the number for his town car to come pick him up. He tugs on casual clothes, a hat, and a pair of glasses, too, before heading downstairs. The car is late, for once, which rarely happens, even when there's bad traffic. Zayn doesn't really mind. He's just happy to get out, and to be alone.

When he slides into the backseat, that bubble bursts. Liam is sitting patiently in the seat across from him, hands, as always, folded in his lap. He looks up when Zayn gets in, a sharp smile on his face. One that screams "Gotcha."

Zayn considers getting back out of the car and just walking, but he has a feeling that Liam will get out and follow him. So he sits in his seat and glares at the back of the one in front of him until he can't take it anymore. "How did you know?" he demands.

Liam shrugs. "Your drivers are instructed to pick me up when they pick you up. Apparently no one trusts you not to go out on your own. For good reason, I guess."

Zayn huffs out a breath. He remembers the conversation he'd had with El, and the fact that he's supposed to call Liam to come with him virtually everywhere, unless he's going out with a group. And he wasn't trying to be defiant today by not calling Liam. He'd honestly just  _forgotten_. It hadn't even crossed his mind.

But now that he's here, in the car with Liam, he's really, really irritated. He needs time  _alone_. He needs to  _think_. That's the whole point of him getting out of his apartment. He couldn't think in there, not when everyone else's presence was so strong, even if they weren't there anymore.

Up front, the driver clears his throat. "Where to, Mr. Malik?"

"Wherever you picked Liam up," he decides. "We're dropping him off first."

Liam gives him an incredulous look. "No, we're not."

The driver looks at them both in the rear-view mirror, a pinched expression on his face. He's probably torn, told to do whatever Zayn says, but also told to make sure Liam accompanies him wherever he goes. Zayn wonders which order he's going to listen to.

"I'm sincerely sorry, Mr. Malik," the driver says, and Zayn sighs. "Any other requests, and I'll be happy to take you wherever you chose."

Zayn chews the inside of his lip, wishing he had a piece of gum. "Just — drive. I don't know yet. I'll figure it out."

"As you wish, sir."

At least Liam has the sense to stay silent as they drive. Zayn stares out the window, once again the two of them finding themselves in this position. Only this time he realizes he's really not at all irritated with Liam being there. Initially, yes. But now that they're moving, his building disappearing in the distance, he feels a hundred times better.

They drive past the shops Zayn likes to frequent, the restaurants he gets reservations at whenever he eats out with friends or by himself. They drive past his favourite cinema, the one that he always goes to alone, with his glasses and hat so no one knows who he is, and sits at the far back. It's the best place to be when you don't want people to recognize you. A dark theatre, where everyone's paying too much attention to the screen and their date, or their family member, or friend they brought with them to notice the guy at the back eating popcorn by himself.

That's where he'd go, if Liam weren't with him. Because he's gone to see something with Harry or one of the other lads millions of times when they were on tour or something, and security escorted them to the building. But afterwards they'd left, giving the boys their space until the film was over. But now — what? Does he ask Liam to wait in the car the entire freaking time he's in the theatre?

No. So he lets the driver keep going. And going. Until he can't take it anymore. "Just stop here," Zayn instructs.

He watches as both the driver and Liam look around. Zayn doesn't know this neighbourhood well, has no idea what shops are here or anything else, but he's dying for a cigarette and he needs to be on foot, not cramped into a car.

As soon as he gets out, Zayn pulls his cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket. He hears Liam fall into step behind him, and he must have some sort of gauge on Zayn's mood because there's a respectful distance between them that he doesn't attempt to breach.

At least, not until Zayn's cigarette has burnt down to the filter and he's dropped it along the way. Liam moves closer, just behind him when he asks, "Do you have a set destination in mind, or are we just aimlessly wandering the streets?"

Zayn shrugs. "The second one. Does that bother you?" Liam shakes his head, but he looks around nervously. "I can call the car to pick you up, if you want. I'm fine on my own, really, I am."

Liam shakes his head again, this time more pointedly. "This place is sketchy, for one," he says. "And I hate to sound like a broken record, but I'm just doing my job."

Yeah, but his job isn't really necessary here. They've past maybe two people in the last ten minutes, both of whom had their heads ducked and were hurrying in the opposite direction, neither of them paying him or Liam any mind at all.

Up ahead, he can see a homeless woman sleeping on the doorstep to some old shop that has probably been closed for years, but since the area isn't exactly great, no one else has bough ten it. He pulls out his wallet (he always keeps cash and cards on him, since you never know when you might need one or the other) and leaves a few bills in the cup that she'd left on the step beside her, which had nothing more than a few small coins in it.

And then they keep walking. They pass a pawn shop, a pub that smells like grease and cigarettes, which, even for a smoker, had been disgusting. They pass a park, and Zayn considers crossing through it but the look on Liam's face makes him forego that idea. He lights up another cigarette and walks past a building that's covered in graffiti. He stops, takes a step back, and Liam nearly bumps into him.

He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of it. He's too close, so he steps back, widens it, and takes another one, careful to keep his hand steady. He checks to make sure that all the words in the corner are clearly decipherable, the big, sharp, slanted letters that read 'Tomorrow is never coming.' and 'Today is never ending.'

He's got it perfectly set up, until Liam asks, "What are you doing?" He jumps, and the picture is ruined.

"What's it look like?" Zayn asks, setting it up again. This time, when he takes it, it's perfect. "I like to take the best ones and gets them framed so I can hang them up in my flat."

"Graffiti," Liam clarifies.

Zayn shoves his phone back in his pocket. "Yep."

They continue on until they get into a more crowded part of town. They pass more people, there's more cars driving by, and finally they're walking parallel to a main street, which Zayn isn't stupid enough to try to walk down. He'd end up losing Liam, or something, and he doesn't want to see the annoyed, wounded look on Liam's face if he did that.

Eventually his legs start to get tired. They pass another park, smaller, less grungy, less likely to find used condoms and syringes in the grass. There's a good amount of people milling about, and there's a food truck in the distance. Before he can cross the street, Liam grabs his arm. He tilts his head to the sky, and Zayn follows the action.

It's grey, much darker than it had been when he left the house. "I'd rather not get caught in this," Liam says warily. "Neither of us thought to bring an umbrella."

Zayn rolls his eyes. "It's not actually going to rain," he says. "Probably won't until at  _least_  tonight. They've been calling for showers all week."

A cold, wet drop hits his cheek. He wipes at it, but a second one hits his forehead. And then it's down pouring, in the blink of an eye. Zayn just stands there, head tilted towards the sky, glaring at it for betraying him in this way.

"Zayn!" Liam shouts, necessary in order to be heard over the sound of rain hitting the pavement and people in the distance shrieking as the rain seems to come down in sheets.

"I don't want to go home!" Zayn yells. "I don't care if we get wet!"

Except the rain is starting to coat he lenses of his glasses, and it's soaking through his hat. Liam gives him a pleading look, like he doesn't want to have to tell Zayn what to do, but he clearly doesn't want to be stuck in this, and Zayn sighs.

"Okay, let's go," he relents.

Liam hesitates, hand hovering between the two of them, before he goes for it and wraps his fingers gently around Zayn's wrist. Zayn's grateful for the sunglasses and the fact that Liam can't see his eyes through them. He goes to tug his arm out of Liam's grip, almost does, but Liam lets out a joyful laugh and starts pulling him through the streets, his sweater pulled up over his head to protect him from the rain. And Zayn can't fight with that, now can he?

Liam guides them inside an old coffee shop. It smells perfect, like sugar and coffee and those donuts they have on display look  _amazing_. He steps towards them as Liam pulls out his phone, probably calling for the car to come pick them up. He tries not to listen in on the conversation and pulls his wet hat off his head.

"Is that Zayn Malik?"

Zayn and Liam both look up at the group of girls in the corner, coffee cups littering their tale. They're all gaping at him, and Zayn expects Liam to tug him right back out the door, but instead all he does is grin and shake his head. "I can't take you anywhere, can I?"

Zayn represses a sigh. Liam is soaked, his clothes hanging off him, and Zayn isn't much better. But he felt good, up until this moment. And he normally doesn't get that irritated about fans spotting him in public, not when it's such a small group that couldn't really cause much of a problem, but for some reason he feels as if they're intruding on something important. Which is such a stupid thought that he pushes it away instantly and forces a grin onto his face.

Liam steps closer to him, voice dropped when he says, "Should I do something?"

Zayn shakes his head. "It's just a group of teenage girls. When there's fifty of them, then you should worry."

Liam nods and does nothing when the boldest of the group comes up to him. And then the rest hesitantly make their way over, and Zayn ends up signing everything from napkins to coffee cups with one of their black eyeliners, since none of them had a pen.

By the time he's done, Liam's got himself a coffee and a the car is waiting out front. "Wait!" one of the girls says. "Can we get one big group hug? And another picture? Just one more?"

Zayn gives Liam a panicked look. He looks horrible right now. These aren't the kind of pictures he wants posted all over the internet. "Sorry, girls," Liam says regretfully, saving him from having to say no himself. "We're on a tight schedule. Got to get him moving along."

The girls pout, but Liam puts a hand on his back and guides him out of the shop. When they get to the car, his hand drops from Zayn's back to open the door, and Zayn goes to walk around to the other side until he realizes that Liam's holding it open for him.

"Thanks," Zayn mumbles as he gets in his seat. Liam grins at him and shuts the door.

As soon as Liam gets in the car, the driver starts going. It isn't until they get to his building that he remembers that he didn't want to go home, but now that they're here it seems stupid to ask to go somewhere else, especially when he can't think of anywhere else to go.

When he gets out, he stands with the door open for a long moment. It's still raining, but not as heavily. "Um, bye," he says quickly, and then he slams the door and jogs for his building.

The doorman eyes his wet clothes when he gets inside, and he wrinkles his nose before asking, "Would you like for me to fetch you a towel, Mr. Malik?"

Zayn glances out the window, but the town car is already driving away. "No, thanks," he says quietly.

He feels off the whole elevator ride to his floor. He still feels that way when he gets to his apartment. When he changed into dry clothes. When he gets into bed.

Something happened between now and when that first rain drop hit his cheek, and he has no idea what it is. But he finds himself reaching under his bed, pulling out his box, grabbing his notebook and writing. He's not sure exactly  _what_  he's writing.

At one point he gets up and throws open his curtains, letting in the natural light. His windows (nearly floor to ceiling, spanning almost the entire length of the outward facing wall) are covered in rain drops, and the rain continues to fall heavily outside. It keeps his flow going, keeps him caught up in the sound of pen scratching against paper, and rain pinging against the glass.

He doesn't stop until the sky gets dark and his phone beeps. He's got it programmed so it only rings or beeps when certain people message him, and that list isn't all that long. He reaches for it, presses the button that brings up the message, and he sees Louis' name before he reads it.

 _So happy 4 u_ , he reads. And then he reads it again, but he still doesn't get it.

 _Why?_  he sends back, and it's only a beat before Louis is answering him.

_Ur new boyfriend. Quite fit. Bit jealous ;)_

Zayn rereads this one three times before something sinks in his stomach and he sends back  _fuck off_. As soon as he has, he brings up twitter on his phone. It's not something he does often, check his twitter. Sometimes, there's nice things; sometimes there's not. With the anonymity of the internet, you can't ever know what you're going to get, and it's best for his mental health to just avoid it, most of the time.

But he has a feeling he knows what Louis means. Remembers a couple years ago when he'd been hanging out with a friend from home and what happened on the internet after that. And then when he did a song with a popular female artist, and everyone just assumed that they  _had_  to be dating, or at least fucking.

He checks the trends, first, but he doesn't see his name amongst them, so he checks his directs and — just the typical, really. Nothing that confirms his suspicious. Until he starts noticing the tweets with pictures attached. At first he just chalks them up to pictures people are probably tweeting of him, but then he reads the caption beside one "WHO IS THIS GUY?" and then #bodyguardorboyfriend?

He checks the trends again, sees the same words, third from the bottom. He clicks it, closing his eyes as he waits for it to load. When it does, he gets what he knew he would. He can't resist clicking on the first picture, and those girls must have taken one of Liam escorting him out of the building because it's just them from behind, Liam's hand on his back. And then the next is Liam opening the car door for him. And there's also one of when he'd first taken his hat off, and Liam's on the phone but he's watching Zayn, lip caught between his teeth, and — Zayn closes it.

" _Damn it_ ," he mutters to himself.

It's best to just nip this in the bud. He looks up Liam's name on Twitter, finds an account that hasn't been used in over six months. But it's definitely him, judging by the profile picture, so he follows it and then sends a tweet.  _Welcome to the team LiamPayne._ and he can't figure out how to end it. How to make it clear that he's  _not_  Zayn's boyfriend.  _You're an awesome bodyguard_  sounds so forced and fake, but it's all he can think of. In the end he settles with adding  _Not the worst bodyguard I've ever had. : )_

Then he waits. Within five minutes, Liam's name is trending worldwide, and Zayn realizes what he's done. While trying to protect himself from the no doubt endless amount of questions he would have gotten in the future about this, he'd went and taken Liam's privacy away from him without even consulting him first. Immediately he goes to delete the tweet, but it's already been retweeted numerous times. He checks Liam's directs and groans.

_LiamPayne ur so hottttttttt_

_LiamPayne is zayn a boxers or briefs guy? THE WORLD NEEDS TO KNOW_

_LiamPayne so does zayn bottom or do you? ;)_

Fuck. He rubs at his temples and tries to think of a way to fix this, but he can't. That's the worst thing about the internet, really. Not the fact that people can be horrible to you without consequences. Once you've put something out there, it's out there. You can't take it back.

He shuts down twitter and turns his phone over and over in his hands, wondering if he should text Liam. But that would be inappropriate, right? He doesn't text any of his other security guards. He doesn't text his drivers unless it's to pick him up. He doesn't text his manager or even El just to chat. And this isn't business related, it's personal. So maybe he should just… not.

For the rest of the night, Zayn waits for a text from Liam yelling at him about what he did, but of course it never comes because Liam wouldn't be the type to get outwardly mad, now is he? Zayn wishes it would come anyways. Maybe it would take away the guilt.

—

They're at a studio, waiting for it to be time for him to go on stage and do his interview. They're going to be scheduled closer together now, what with the tour coming up only in a few weeks. There's always a lot of promotion just before a tour, which doesn't make sense to Zayn. Tickets for the tour had gone on sale  _months_  ago and had sold out in  _minutes_. They're not trying to sell them anymore, so what's the point? But he doesn't complain because he knows that his fans love the interviews, and he loves his fans.

"Chocolate glazed," Liam says from behind him.

Zayn whirls, looking away from his phone. He wasn't even texting anyone, not really, but he and Liam haven't really spoken lately. He's still waiting for Liam to bring it up, to get pissed at him for bringing Liam's personal life into this when he had no right to. But Lam's done nothing but act normal, like not a damn thing has happened, and Zayn just feels so  _awkward_. And, really, what are phones good for if not to use as an excuse to avoid awkward social situations?

"What?" he asks, confused.

Liam holds out a hand, where a chocolate glazed donut sits on a napkin. "You complained when we were at the radio station because they didn't have chocolate glazed," he explains.

Zayn looks at the donut, then at Liam, and then he takes it and holds it in his hand like it's something precious because he's an idiot, obviously. "I — thanks," he mutters. How did Liam even remember that? It's not an important piece of information. It was something he'd said offhandedly.

"No problem," Liam says easily. He falls onto the sofa and crosses his arms over his chest. He still refuses to take anything himself, never helping himself to coffee or any of the other refreshments. Zayn would insist, but he doesn't want to hear 'Just doing my job' again so he doesn't bother.

Silence falls over them, and Zayn shoves his donut in his mouth. It's good, soft and just the right amount of chewy with the perfect chocolate on top. He chews, swallows, and finds Liam watching him again.

With a sigh, Zayn rubs at his mouth. "Just say it," he begs. "Just — yell at me, or whatever. Please."

Liam looks genuinely confused. "For what?"

Zayn groans and throws up his hands while keeping a careful hold on the precious donut. "You know what! That Twitter shit. I went and announced your real name to, like, millions. And then the messages you got because of it, and I totally invaded your privacy, so— just get it over with. Tell me I'm an inconsiderate prick. Something. Just stop acting like everything's okay, it's driving me crazy."

Liam's head cocks to the side, and he just  _stares_  at Zayn for a moment. Until, finally, he lets out a burst of laughter. It's a nice laugh, not the kind that sounds like he's laughing  _at_  you. It makes him feel like joining in, but he's really not in the mood to laugh right now. "You cause a lot of unnecessary stress for yourself, don't you?"

Zayn blinks at him. "What?"

Liam shakes his head. "If I had that much of an issue with it, I would have said something. But it's really not that big of a deal. For one, I don't have anything to hide. For another, I'll be old news in a week or two; I'm not very interesting. And the only downside was that I had to explain to my sister why I didn't tell her I was working for  _the_ Zayn Malik."

"Oh," Zayn says softly. "I didn't know you had a younger sister." But then, he barely knows anything about Liam.

With a wince, Liam says, "Sadly, I actually don't. She's years older than me. It's embarrassing."

Zayn can't help but laugh this time, so he does. And Liam settles back on the couch, looking more than comfortable. Again, the silence gets heavy, and Zayn impatiently taps his foot and chews his donut fast, itching for a piece of gum. He needs to get this over with, and he feels more anxious than is warranted right now. He never gets this worked up before an interview.

It's not the interview, a voice in the back of his mind says. Says that the nerves has more to do with the other person in this room, not anything that will happen when he leaves it.

"You're wrong, you know," he blurts. Liam looks up at him, eyebrows raised, silently asking for an explanation. "You're plenty interesting. I'm sure."

Liam snorts. "How so?"

Now Zayn's uncomfortable again. "Um. I don't know. You're just—" He cuts off, waving a hand. "I don't know. You've got all these muscles, yeah? And you look intimidating as fuck, until you smile, and you go from Cujo to — to Beethoven. The dog, not the composer, obviously. It's just … interesting."

A slow smile crawls over Liam's lips. "I'm not the internationally famous popstar who takes long walks in the bad parts of town, slipping homeless people money and appreciating graffiti. Now  _that's_  interesting. I'm just — average."

Zayn takes in Liam's arm, exposed in his tank top after he'd shucked his sweater inside. The tattoos on his forearm, and his wide brown eyes. And he's also got these seriously pink lips (they're distracting), and his jaw is covered in just the right amount of stubble. The last thing Zayn would call him is  _average._

He doesn't say this, though, and someone comes in the room, saving him from having to think of something to say instead. He gives Liam one more look before he ducks out of the room, and Liam's got his arms behind his head now and his legs are spread wide, looking perfectly comfortable as he nods his goodbye to Zayn. His arm muscles bulge, and armpits should not be attractive. They shouldn't be. No, they  _aren't_. Not even Liam Payne's.

If only a lie could become the truth if you repeated it enough times.

Fuck, okay, he doesn't need this in his head when he's about to do a live interview on national television. He'll deal with this later. Right now, he needs to focus.

Easier said than done, he realizes not long after. The interviewer smiles sweetly at him and asks about the new man in his life, and Zayn's mind flickers back to Liam on that damn sofa. "Wh-what?"

"We all want to know," she say, leaning in like it'll be a secret shared just between them. Like four cameras aren't zooming in on his face from every angle as she says this, "if he's a hired guard, or something more."

Zayn clears his throat. "Um, the first one." His mind whirls for an answer that will stop any of these questions from coming up again. "After the accident a few weeks ago —" There's sympathetic cooing from the crowd. "— everyone suggested I bulk up my security. So that's what he's for.  _Just_ security."

"He's quite attractive," the interviewer insists.

Zayn bites his tongue before saying, as firmly as he can, "He's really not my type. And relationships with the staff aren't exactly encouraged. He's just a good guy who keeps me from getting in trouble, but I can assure everyone right now that we don't, nor will we, have that kind of relationship."

It sounds harsh, even to him, but he knows how these things are. Sometimes the only way to handle them are to be blunt. Be firm. Leave no room for argument, because if you give them an inch, they'll take a mile. If he doesn't stop rumours before they can start, they'll be out of control before either he or Liam knows what's happening. And, he knows, his management would likely be unhappy with that kind of publicity surrounding their relationship, and it would only be a matter of time before Liam was replaced with someone else.

Zayn doesn't want him replaced. He's just getting used to having Liam around all the time, and he doesn't want to have to get used to someone else. That, and he doesn't want to get used to  _not_  having him around, too, but that part is a little harder to admit to himself, and it confuses him.

He chances a look offstage, and he finds Liam leaning against the wall near a few other people from the show, the ones who do all the behind the scenes stuff. He's got a blank look on his face, and Zayn wonders how long he's been standing there.

—

When Zayn gets home, someone is in his apartment. The pair of shoes he'd discarded while getting ready are moved, and he  _knows_ he left the TV off. For a moment, panic envelopes him and he almost calls Liam's name, like he expects Liam to be able to protect him even when he's not around.

"You've got none of those microwavable pizza roll things left," Niall calls from the living room. "Don't worry, I added them to the grocery list on the fridge."

Sighing, Zayn lets his tensed shoulders relax as he pulls off his jacket. He tosses it into the closet (a cleaner's coming by in two days, he doesn't need to worry about it) and heads for the living room. "Who let you in here?"

Niall dangles a key from his fingers without looking away from the TV. "Stole 'em from Harry. Hope you don't mind."

He doesn't, really. He's used to this. If someone had told him years ago, when he'd first met Niall and the others, that they'd push their way into his life without giving him a choice in the matter, he would have run. Now, he can't imagine his life without them, and it'd definitely be a lot less eventful.

"Any reason you're breaking into my flat?" Zayn asks as he falls into the recliner. He stretches out, grateful to be at home finally.

Niall shrugs and eats one of Zayn's pizza rolls off the plate on the table. Zayn glares at them; that was his dinner for tomorrow, and now he'll have to figure out something else, or order in. "Not really," Niall say offhandedly. "Just came for a visit."

"Okay," Zayn says slowly.

With Harry, the best way to coax something out of him is to be as consoling and comforting as possible. Louis takes a lot of shouting. Josh is pretty upfront on most accounts, so it's rare that you have to force something out of him. And Niall is the type of person who just needs his own time to work things out, and he'll let you know as soon as he does. So Zayn turns his gaze to the TV and pretends to get caught up in the Game of Thrones rerun while really waiting for Niall to let it out.

Finally, Niall sits up and runs a hand through his hair. "Do you think it's stupid for two people who are best friends to try to be more than that?"

Zayn didn't expect  _that_. "Is this about Louis and Harry?"

Niall scoffs. "I wish. But no."

Zayn frowns, but he remembers the other night on the couch all to well. The awkward touches, the nervous giggling, the way they'd both jumped when they'd put their arms around Zayn. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." Niall groans. "We live together. We're in a band together. Josh is the best mate I could ever ask for. And he's a  _dude_."

"Is that the issue?" Zayn asks, and he thinks he should be a tad bit more surprised by this but, really, he's not. "That he's a guy?"

"No," Niall says instantly. "I mean, I've been into guys, like, sexually since I watched Lord of the Rings and realized that the hottest person in the film was Legolas. I just never thought that I'd fall in love with one. I figured I'd just be attracted to guys, experiment a bit when I got older, but settle down with a girl when I'm, like, thirty-five and we'd have kids and shit. But now…"

"Now?" Zayn prompts.

Niall shrugs. "We already live together. I don't think I'll ever meet someone who tolerates my shit as much as he does, and I don't think I'll ever be able to tolerate anyone else's shit the way I do his."

"How romantic," Zayn teases.

That gets him flipped off. "I'm just trying to figure out if the possible outcome is worth the risk. Like, what if it doesn't work and suddenly we're stuck in the same position as Harry and Lou? He's been my best friend for as long as I remember; I can't live without him, man."

Zayn chews the inside of his lip, considering this. Niall's got a point, he does. But Zayn is a hopeless romantic. His sisters used to tease him mercilessly about it. He just honestly believes that if two people are truly, really meant for each other, it'll work out. But… "If you really are as good of friends as you think, then trying something isn't going to ruin that. It might for a bit, if it doesn't work out, but you're all creepily dependent on each other. It'd only be a matter of time before you guys talked it out and laughed it off, and you'd be right back where you started without the uncertainty of possible feelings hanging over you."

Niall looks a little taken back. "Fuck, you're good with words, you know that?"

Zayn shrugs. "I might have had an inkling," he says teasingly. "I mean, several number one singles, written exclusively by me might have been a bit of a tip off."

Niall laughs, for a moment. Eventually the sound trails off, and he looks at Zayn with wide eyes. "So you really think I should go for it?"

Again, Zayn shrugs. "I would."

"Well, yeah, but you're  _The Zayn Malik_ ," Niall mocks. "No one would say no to you."

"You're going to give me a complex," Zayn jokes.

Niall rolls his eyes. "You've already got a complex." He stands up and brushes his hands on his jeans. "I should probably go, then. Talk to Josh. Figure this out. Tell 'im I might be kinda in love with him."

Zayn tries not to look shocked. "Right now?"

"No time like the present," Niall says easily. "Love waits for no one. And neither do hot guys."

"You know," Zayn calls after him as he heads for the door, "I'm getting real sick of everyone using me for my TV and my therapy skills!"

"Love you, too!" Niall shouts back.

When he's gone, Zayn watches the screen for a while, but his mind is elsewhere. It's like everyone in his life is pairing up, and he's  _not_. Louis and Harry, no matter how fucked up they are, are getting some. Niall and Josh. His parents are together. Hell, Doniya's engaged. Even Waliyha's got a boyfriend. And Ant's got a girlfriend. And just — every person he's close with, really, has a significant other.

Zayn hasn't dated in two years, not since that pretty model girl Carrie who was gorgeous and perfect, outwardly, but who was kind of boring and just a little cruel inwardly. Before that, there was Mal, who was another up-and-coming artist at the time, and he'd like Zayn more for what Zayn was going to be, than for who he really was. So really, his track record with relationships isn't good, which is why he doesn't actively seek them. Sure, he enjoys the occasional hook-up with some random person from a club after he's gotten a bit too much alcohol in his system, but he hasn't tried for anything  _serious_  in a long time.

But he doesn't need to be. Just like he's a firm believer in two people being able to work things out if it's meant to be, he also believes that you don't have to meet your soul mate when you're in your twenties. Or even thirties. He's sure some people don't meet that person until they're old and have already lived through countless relationships with people that just weren't the right one. So he's in no rush, really, he's not. It'd just be kind of nice to not go home to an empty bed every night. To have someone to go out with on a date every once in a while. To share his world with someone who could handle it, who got it but was still real and down to earth.

That might be the issue right there. He's looking for someone that can keep him grounded. That won't get caught up in all of this, and that's asking a bit too much of people. It's hard to find someone that's willing to put up with the bad parts of his life, without getting too into the good parts. Who won't run scared, but who also won't let it get to their head.

Fuck, why is he even thinking about this? Why did Niall have to leave? Sometimes Zayn really cannot handle being left alone with his thoughts. Though usually this equals some great writing, he hasn't been able to produce a single line since that night when it rained, and he knows, he just  _knows_ , that he won't be able to tonight, either, even if he tries. He's not itching to get the words out, not thrumming with suppressed energy. Once again, he's just tired.

—

"I don't want to go," Zayn whines for the fifteenth time.

Maxx, his stylist, tugs a brush through his hair and sighs at him. She's been with him almost as long as Harry and the others, and Zayn considers her a good friend. She's not much older than him, but she reminds him a lot of his mother, weirdly enough. "It's for charity, darling," she reminds him. "You  _have_  to go."

Zayn groans. He's  _aware_. "Can't I just make a donation?"

"You have to make an appearance."

He doesn't mind doing charity events, he doesn't. In fact, he loves them, and he does them  _a lot_. But ones like this? He hates them. It's just an excuse for a bunch of rich people to dress up and show off, with the pretence of giving to some sort of foundation. When in reality the dresses they're wearing, or the venue they rented out for the event, cost way more than the amount that they're actually putting into said charity. He doesn't get why it has to be showy. Why they're wasting money on throwing a big party when that's, like, hundreds of thousands that they could have just given to the charity. But no one ever listens to his opinion on this.

"You could always bring a date," Maxx suggests. "Or one of the lads. I'm sure Louis would love to go."

So is Zayn, but he has experience with this, and Louis gets all dolled up, and then once he actually  _gets there_ , he gets all irritated by how fake everyone is and he wants to leave as soon as possible. Kind of like Zayn, truth be told, but Zayn  _has_  to go. Louis doesn't. And Harry won't come because he's taken to sulking in his apartment to make Louis feels guilty, and Niall won't come because… Zayn doesn't really want to think about that, actually. It's hard to get him or Josh out of the apartment after the apart declarations of love that happened last week.

So Zayn has no choice but to go alone. Well, not fully alone. Liam will be there, as security is often encourage to accompany him to these types of things. When you get that many rich, famous people in one room, you never know what can happen. There've been party crashers, and unfortunate things have happened, and Zayn hadn't even questioned it when El called to let him know that Liam will be coming.

Zayn's glad that he doesn't have to go  _all_  alone, but at the same time, Liam won't be a solace. At these kind of events, the people who work for you are expected to be shuffled to the side. There won't be a spot at Zayn's table for him to sit during the dinner part of the evening. He'll be expected to stand along the wall in an area with the rest of the security staff. Because that's just how these things work.

"You know what?" Zayn says slowly, head cocked to the side. Maxx slaps the back of it until he straightens it so she can finish doing his hair. "Fuck this. Can you hand me your phone?"

His phone is dropped into his lap, and Maxx turns his chair so she's facing him. "Can you call while I do your make-up?"

Zayn sighs. "Why do you even have to do my make-up?"

"Because you have pores, sweetie," Maxx says while reaching for a sponge thing. "As do all of us, because you're a normal human being. But the world has this idea in their heads that you're flawless, above these types of mundane things, and unless you want a bunch of unflattering pictures all over the tabloids…"

Zayn waves her ahead while looking down at his phone. He finds the contact, presses talk, and lifts it to his ear. "Hello?" El says happily when she answers.

"It's Zayn," he says. "I need you to call and let them know that I'll be bringing a date with me tonight, after all."

"Okay," El says slowly. He can hear her typing things. "A bit last minute, but you're  _you_  so I'm sure it'll be fine. Just give me a name so the staff is aware."

"Liam Payne."

El make a spluttering sound. "Your  _security_  guard? You can't go on a date with your security."

Zayn rolls his eyes. "It's not a date. But if you insist on me bringing him, I'm not gonna have him standing around the whole night, looking uncomfortable and upset. So make sure there's room at my table for him."

El hesitates. "I don't think that's the best idea, Zayn," she says softly.

"Then I'm not going."

"You  _have_  to go. You've RSVP'd. Everyone's expecting you."

"So let them know to expect Liam, too," Zayn says flatly, no room for argument. "Unless you'd rather I just left him at home and went alone."

She's considering it, he can tell. At the last second she sighs, though, and says, "Alright, fine, if you insist. But we're going to have to ask you to be careful not to have any photographs taken with him. The rumours have already started, and you did a great job shooting them down at that interview, but we feel that you can't afford this kind of publicity, especially not with you going on tour shortly."

Zayn wasn't planning on it anyways, so he doesn't mind agreeing. "Cool. Thank you."

"Mhm. Best behaviour tonight, Zayn. Remember, it's for charity."

They hang up, and Maxx finishes his face before patting his cheek gently. "There, you're perfect. Barely any help from me. Now let's get you dressed. I've got this gorgeous suit picked out for you, and…" Zayn tunes her out, mostly because he doesn't listen to half he designer shit she talks about. He doesn't see the difference between a thousand dollar suit and a ten thousand dollar one, but she does. "And you're going to have to call him, too. Liam, his name is?"

Zayn comes back to the conversation, halfway between buttoning up his dress shirt. "What?"

Maxx puts a hand on her hip. "You can't just send him into lion's pit without giving him a fair chance, Zayn. Tell me, what do you think he'll show up in tonight?"

Zayn thinks. "Jeans, t-shirt, probably."

"Oh, God," Maxx moans. "Okay, call him and tell him he needs to a wear a suit. And dress shoes. Simple tie. He's large, isn't he? Best to do a skinny one. I think I have one somewhere, if he doesn't have one…." She bustles around Zayn's wardrobe. "And he needs to shave! He  _has_  to shave. I can't do anything for that hair of his, and it's too edgy for him to have scruff."

Zayn laughs at her. "You're getting really worked up about this."

Maxx glares at him, a tie fisted tightly in her hands. "You realize what you're doing, yes? The consequences of it? You might not bat an eyelash at someone bring one of their staff members, but some of those people there tonight are going to look at you like you brought the family dog to a formal event. And I think that Liam deserves better than to be shunned and gawked at. So yes, I'm getting worked up about this. If I were him, I'd kill you."

Zayn — hadn't thought of that. She's right, though. He didn't even consider that at all. Because it's not a big deal to him. But, admittedly, a lot of people who will be there tonight like to think they're at the highest ends of society, and they're the type who are going to likely think that Liam is near the lower end, just because he works for Zayn.

And once again, Zayn's doing things that will directly effect Liam without even asking him first. "I should call El and tell her I changed my mind," Zayn says abruptly. "Fuck, I wasn't even thinking."

"You can't!" Maxx says shrilly. "Not now. She's already told everyone you're bringing him. They'll have to rearrange the seating again, not to mention the fact that everyone will be wondering what made you change your mind. The damage is done, Zayn. The best we can do is make sure this goes off without a hitch, that's all."

Zayn rubs at his temples and reaches for the pack of gum on his bedside table. He pops out two pieces and chews.

—

"It's not going to be that bad, right?" Liam asks.

He's sitting in the seat beside Zayn, rubbing his hands nervously over the legs of his dress pants. It's late, and the windows are tinted, which means it's hard for Zayn to see Liam. He can't tell what his expression is, if he looks terrified or just slightly nervous. "Of course not," Zayn says flippantly, while his mind screams  _probably, yes_. Maxx has made him realize that it's actually a horrible idea, but they have to go through with it and he'd rather not put that weight over Liam's head. "Glad you had a suit, though."

Liam fidgets. "It's a bit tight," he admits. "And I only have it because my sister got married a bit over a year ago and she made me buy one. Doesn't fit as well as it did, but it's not like I had any warning that I was going to have to dress up for tonight. No one told me that being your bodyguard had a dress code."

"This is the only time," Zayn promises. "Won't happen again."

"Okay."

They're both quiet the rest of the ride, both of them nervously moving around every few seconds. Zayn tugs at his tie, hating the way it makes it harder for him to breathe, even if it's not that tight. It's just the thought of something around his neck that bothers him. It makes him feel constricted, trapped, suffocated. He hates it. Hates these kinds of events where he has to dress up like this. If he had it his way, he'd be in sweatpants and a t-shirt, or at least  _jeans_.

The event is held at an expensive ballroom only a few minutes from his apartment. As soon as they pull up, Liam lets out a squawking sound and… yeah, that seems pretty fitting, in Zayn's mind. The whole outside is lit up, with a grand water fountain out front. The entire building has a sense of grandeur and history, and it looks like the kind of place that you don't even want to go in because you're afraid of breaking something.

"You should fire me," Liam says hurriedly. "Like, right now. Fire me. Actually, no, I'll save you the trouble: I quit. Right now. I'm not going in there."

Just behind them, a limo pulls up. The driver gets out and opens the back door, and a woman in a sparkling silver dress comes out. It looks like moonlight, and she delicately puts her hand on the arm of the man who got out the other side. Together, the two of them slowly make their way up to the building.

Okay, Zayn thinks Liam's protesting is a little called for, he does, but they don't have a choice. "You have to go," he hisses. "It's for  _charity_." He needs to stop hanging out with Maxx. "And you can't quit. I'm your boss and I just said so, so there."

Liam takes a shuddering breath and pushes his hands through the longer hairs on the top of his head. "Alright. Let's just — get it over with."

Before he can think about it, Zayn reaches over and grabs Liam's hand. In the dark of the small town car, Liam looks at him with wide eyes. Zayn drops his hand and clears his throat. "Uh. Just a word of advice: fake it. No one likes these things, and no one's as confident as they look."

"Even you?" Liam asks, looking like he doesn't believe that for a second.

Especially, Zayn thinks. "Let's go before they wonder why we're sitting here so long."

He's the first one out of the car. He knows there's probably someone watching him, from the other people getting out of limos or fancy cars to the ones already heading into the building. He adjusts his suit jacket, straightens his watch on his wrist so it's facing upright, and he hears Liam's door shut behind him.

"Okay," Liam says, slightly breathless. "Let's do this."

And then Zayn looks at him.

He hadn't got a proper look at Liam before now. He was already in the car when it'd arrived in front of Zayn's building, and it had been too dark to really see more than an outline. Now, with the lights from the nearest street lamp, and the building behind him, and the moon shining above them, he finally does.

Liam had said the suit was a bit tight, but it must have been loose the first time he wore it because it hugs him just perfectly, in Zayn's opinion. It's so freaking simple, just the average black dress pants, a white button-up dress shirt, a simple tie and that coat that buttons just right and moulds to his body. But it's the whole thing, coupled with his freshly shaven face and his perfectly styled hair and the nervous glint in his eyes (and maybe Zayn just has a suit kink, possibly), that makes him look just… great, really. Fucking perfect, actually.

"What?" Liam asks, tugging at the coat. "It's horrible, isn't it?"

Zayn's itching for a piece of gum, but this event is the kind where chewing gum would be frowned upon. "No, it's fine," Zayn says easily. You don't go through hundreds of interviews without perfecting the ability to sound casual and calm when you feel anything but. "Another word of advice, though," he says, because Liam looks like he's about to call bullshit, "is to always order the chicken. If it says chicken, chances are it's good. Anything else is a risk. It could be great, but you could end up eating snails."

Liam frowns at him. "What?" he asks again.

"The chicken," Zayn repeats. "Order the chicken."

Liam shakes his head. "No, I mean — I'm not— I thought I'd just be standing around while you all did your charity thing."

Yeah… Zayn starts walking to avoid replying to that. Awkward situations are not his forte.

" _Zayn_ ," Liam snaps, jogging after him. "What — what's going to happen in there? You're going to have to give me a run through because I'm completely lost."

Zayn sighs. "I didn't want to sit alone, okay? I'd be stuck at a table with a bunch of snobby people, and I'd have no choice but to make conversation with them if I was alone. And since my friends are all insane, and you  _have_  to be here anyways, I figured I'd pull some strings. So I got you a seat at my table."

Liam stops dead, and Zayn has to, too. People look at them, a couple walking by, and Zayn smiles winningly, like nothing's wrong. "You shouldn't have done that," Liam says lowly.

"Well I already did," Zayn hisses, keeping his voice lowered. "I know it was dumb, and I should have asked you first. I do a lot of really stupid things without thinking first, and I'm really sorry, but we're kind of stuck with this and—"

"Don't be sorry for  _me_ ," Liam says, cutting him off. "I mean you shouldn't have done this because of  _you_. If they find out you brought someone who works for you as your guest, people are going to talk."

"Wait," Zayn drags out slowly. "You're not mad at me?"

"I don't get mad that easily. I thought you would have noticed by now." He tugs at his tie. "I'm nervous as  _fuck_ , but I'm not  _mad_. Bit annoyed, though, to be honest. But not mad."

It's like the weight of guilt suddenly lifts off him, and he can stands straighter once again. "Oh. Well, in that case, I couldn't give less of a fuck what people think."

Liam shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. "You're full of surprises, Zayn Malik," he says. Before Zayn can ask him what he means, or return that smile with a genuine, probably stupidly wide one of his own, he starts walking again. "Come on, I've always wondered what people do at these things."

Zayn hurries after him. "Drink a lot," he supplies. "Try to upstage each other. Lots of cattiness. I guarantee at least two people at our table will start talking shit about someone at another, and later in the night they'll all be chatting and laughing with one another like they're not stabbing knives into each other's backs every time they turn around."

Liam laughs. "Sounds like fun."

When they get to the doors, Liam holds it open for him. As soon as they step inside, they're stopped by a man behind a podium who asks for their names. Until he looks up at Zayn, and then he makes an embarrassed sound before apologizing and stuttering, "So sorry, Mr. Malik. You and your guest are at table six. So sorry, again." As if he expected Zayn to throw a fit for not being recognized immediately.

"Is everyone that scared of you?" Liam whispers in his ear as they head towards the wide open double doors that lead to the main room, where there's countless circular tables set up, each topped with plates and cutlery and a water filled glass vase as the centerpiece.

Liam's spoken to him more tonight than he usually does. Zayn's pretty sure it has to do with nerves. Maybe Liam talks a lot when he's nervous, the way that Zayn chews gum. "Hopefully not," Zayn says distractedly.

There are people already in the room. When they step inside, a guy who can't be any older than them, dressed in dress pants, a white shirt and a black vest, comes over to them, a tray of champagne in his hands. "Can I offer you a drink?" he asks. "Or help finding your table?"

"Table," Zayn mumbles while taking a sweeping look of the room. Several faces look back at him, and then their eyes slide to Liam, beside him. "Thanks."

The guy — Geoff, his nametag says— leads them through the room, stopping at table six after Zayn told him the number. Thankfully no one is at their table yet, and Zayn snags a drink from Geoff's tray before thanking him. Liam doesn't take one, but instead sits rod straight in his seat, hands folded in his lap, a blank look on his face.

Zayn sits casually in his own seat, directly beside Liam's, and sips his drink while carefully meeting the eyes of anyone who's staring at them. There's not many, thankfully. In these situations, everyone likes to pretend that they're above that kind of thing. That they're not impressed by that famous movie star, or that artist, while watching them out of the corners of their eyes so they can relay the information later over twitter, or something. Zayn loves it. It makes him laugh, most of the time. But right now, with Liam sitting beside him looking lost, he doesn't.

"Liam," he says softly, over the brim of his cup. He takes a sip and raises his eyebrows, but Liam doesn't turn to look at him.

"Processing," he says. "I'm like an old computer. If you give me too much to handle at once, you've got to give me a minute to process. So just— give me a minute."

Zayn is aching to touch him. He's not even sure how. A comforting pat on his shoulder? Maybe grabbing his hand and brushing his thumb over the back of it in a hopefully soothing way? A hand on his thigh, squeezing just light enough that he knows it's there? But, for one, he  _can't_  do that because who knows how many people would see, and while he really doesn't give a fuck what they think, he sort of  _has_  to because of his image. And then there's the fact that he and Liam don't have that kind of close relationship where touching is casual. So he doesn't do it, but he wants to. He really, really wants to.

Liam takes a breath and finally looks up at him. "I'm good," he says before Zayn can ask. "It's quite beautiful in here, isn't it?"

Zayn takes  _another_  look around, because he hadn't really thought about that part of it before. But, yeah, it is. In a cold, don't-touch-anything kind of way. It makes him feel like he's nine again, visiting his old friend Martin's house for the first time. Zayn had grown up in a normal, average home. They never had much money, but they didn't  _struggle_. But then there was Martin, who's family had a lot of money. And Zayn recalls his mother coming out and yelling at them for sitting on the sofa, and Zayn couldn't figure out why someone would have a sofa you weren't supposed to sit on, but Martin explained that it was the  _adult_  living room. That only the adults were supposed to go inside, and the kids had a separate room where they could do whatever they want.

"I guess," he says. "Depends on your definition of beauty."

"And what's yours?"

Zayn shrugs, sips his drink again to figure out an answer to that. But he can't, so all he says is, "Not this."

Liam smiles, like he agrees, and Zayn thinks that maybe  _that_. Maybe that's what he finds beautiful. Pink lips spread over straight white teeth, smiling so wide that his mouth wrinkles at the sides and his jaw looks just a little lopsided.

He downs the last of his drink in one sip and wonders if he could convince Geoff to get him some vodka instead.

Eventually the room starts to fill, and so does their table. Liam keeps up a constant stream of small talk with him, never about anything of any interest or import. The first couple that sits with them is one Zayn recognizes from many of these events, though he's never spoken to them and he honestly can't remember either of their names until they introduce themselves as "Mary and Jonathon."

"Nice to meet you," Liam says pleasantly, extending his hand across the table. "Liam."

They look expectantly at Zayn and he realizes that he made a mistake in inviting Liam. The guy is so damn polite that Zayn either has to make more effort than he normally would, or risk looking like an inconsiderate prick. "Hi," he mumbles, wondering where the hell Geoff went with the alcohol.

The next couple that sits at their table Zayn knows by name. Linda and Mark Walsh. Mark is the CEO for a really big company (Zayn has no idea what, never asked and doesn't care to) with a penchant for checking out other people's dates with his wife right beside him. Linda is a swimsuit model from Spain and speaks only a little English, and a lot of it is still hard to understand.

At least they're a pleasant enough bunch. Zayn is surprised. They're lucky they weren't sat at, say, the next table, with Kara Hues, a socialite who once asked him out and decided that he was the scum of the earth when he politely told her he was already seeing someone else. Or Martin Corey, the host of this really big talk show that does nothing but treat Zayn like he's in an interview every time they speak, and then tweets their entire conversation to the world, with commentary that ranges from friendly and humorous to insulting, depending on whether Zayn's putting up with his shit that day.

"Well," Mary says at one point, and Zayn stops searching the room for one of those servers with the trays of champagne, "Liam, I know everyone else at this table but you. So why don't you tell us about yourself."

Liam shifts uncomfortably and Zayn goes to save him, blurt anything he can think of to stop from making this awkward, but Liam slips a smile back onto his face and says, "I'm not all that interesting, really."

Mary laughs. "Considering Zayn hasn't brought a date to one of these… ever, really, I'd have to say you're wrong about that. There must be  _something_  interesting about you."

"Oh, I'm not his date," Liam says quickly. "I'm actually his—"

"Friend," Zayn finishes for him. Liam shoots him a look that he ignores. He didn't stop Liam because he's embarrassed that he brought someone who technically works for him as his date. He did it because he knows these types of people, and while Mary seems friendly enough, they're all very good at smiling to your face and sneering behind your back. He'd rather not give them any ammunition to use against Liam.

Eventually conversation winds down and a waiter comes and explains what they'll be having for dinner (the usual appetisers and then a choice of fish, vegetarian or protein main), and then asks what kind of wine the table would like. When he's gone, Zayn taps his thighs impatiently while waiting for that god damn wine to arrive.

The upside to bringing Liam, of course, is that while he makes Zayn look bad just by existing and being a better person, he keeps Zayn from having to talk much. He engages Linda and Mark in conversation and fields each one of Mary's questions, and Zayn's safe to just sit there and sip his wine once it's been brought to the table and poured for him.

When dinner arrives, they all eat, and chat more (though Zayn mostly just eats and drinks) and then, finally, when the plates are cleared and Zayn's starting to get a good buzz, they're all told that they can move to the ballroom if they like for live music and to make additional donations to the charity on top of the thousand pounds it cost for each seat at one of the tables.

Linda gets exited and pulls her husband out to the ballroom, while Mary and her husband slowly make their way from the table to talk to other people. Liam just sits there, staring down at his lap.

"What?" Zayn asks. "You don't like to dance?" he jokes. "Because we don't have to. I never do. I usually just sit here and drink and try to be as nice to people as I can when they come talk to me."

Liam frowns at him. "It's not that. It's — a thousand quid? That's what it's costing you to have me sit here and eat dry chicken beside you?"

Zayn makes a surprised sound. He didn't mean to, it's just— he hadn't really thought about it. But yeah, it's the truth. "I guess."

"I'm never going to be able to pay you back for that," Liam says. "Not right away, at least. It'll take me  _months_."

"I don't recall asking you to pay me back," Zayn says, reaching for the wine bottle. A server had come and poured all his glasses earlier in the evening, but Zayn's not patient enough to wait and he's capable of doing it himself. "You're my guest. I'm paying for you. That's how it works."

"I'm not your guest," Liam states. "I'm your bodyguard, and your excuse to not talk to people."

"That's not—" Liam raises his eyebrows. "Okay, it's sort of true."

Liam huffs out a breath. "It's for charity," he says, like he's talking to himself, not Zayn. "You're lucky it's for charity because if it weren't I'd be seriously upset with you right now."

Before Zayn can respond to that, someone sinks down in Linda's old seat. She's got orangey- red hair tied back in a tight bun that looks a bit uncomfortable, and ruby red lips. As soon as she sits, another woman sits beside her. And then another, and suddenly they're surrounded.

"Kara," Zayn says, a bit clipped.

" _Zayn_ ," she says with a smile. "Nice to see you again."

Liam looks a bit lost, and Zayn wants to grab his arm and drag him out of here. But he doesn't, because they're like feral animals. When they smell weakness, they pounce. So he pushes a tight smile onto his face and this time he doesn't stop himself from grabbing Liam's hand under the table. It's for him this time, not Liam, and as selfish as it is that  _that's_  what springs him into action, it's still the truth.

"And I don't think I know your name," Kara says, extending a hand to Liam.

Liam takes it and shakes it, and Zayn's eyes narrow. "I'm Liam," he says, like he has no idea that he's conversing with the devil right now.

"Liam," she says slowly, and her friends titter. "I thought the staff was  _joking_  when I overheard them talking about Zayn bringing his bodyguard as his date. But they weren't, were they?"

"No, they were not," Liam says with a slight chuckle. "But I'm not actually his date. Just his company. It was very nice of him to invite me."

"It's very odd of him, actually," Kara corrects. "Goodness, it feels like I'm living in Titanic. Or, what was that movie with J-Lo?"

"Maid in Manhattan," her friend supplies.

"Right. Great movie. Bit unrealistic, though." She laughs, like this is hilarious. "Anyways, Zayn, I was wondering if we could chat for a moment. Alone. Possibly in the ballroom, if you're rather dance while we talk."

Zayn squeezes Liam's hand, so hard it must hurt. "I've gotta go to the bathroom," Liam says loudly. "Zayn, do you think you could show me where it is?"

Zayn stands up abruptly. "Sure. Sorry, Kara. Another time."

She calls after him, but Zayn walks away anyways, Liam falling into step behind him. They weave their way through tables, past other people idling around, sipping drinks and making small talk. None of them try to stop them, which Zayn's grateful for. He's just not cut out for these types of things, and he has no idea why he gets invited to them, or why his management insists on him going. It's not like it fits into his image at all, really. He's not some billionaire socialite. And he's pretty sure that, like, Bruno Mars doesn't have to sit through this shit, right? Why can't he be forced to go to fashion shows or something like other celebrities?

"I don't actually have to go to the bathroom," Liam says when they're far away from their table. "I was just trying to rescue you, before you, you know, squeezed my hand right off."

Zayn pauses, mid-step. "Oh." He rubs at the back of his neck. "Thanks. And — sorry. She hates me. That was nothing to do with you."

Liam shrugs. "It's fine."

It's really not, but Zayn can't think of anything to say to make it fine, either. "Let's just go in the ballroom," he offers. "We don't have to dance. But there's probably something stronger than wine in there, and I could use a shot or two."

Liam snorts a laugh. "Am I that terrible of a date that you have to get wasted to get through it?" Zayn opens his mouth , but Liam quickly adds, "That was a joke."

God, he just feels off again. And Liam in that damn suit is doing things to him, and Kara with her evil smile and her too pretty lips is doing things to him, and the wine he'd had is doing things to him. He needs to get out of here, but he can't leave before a certain time or it'll be obvious that he didn't want to be here in the first place. Wouldn't that just be lovely? 'Zayn Malik — too good for charity?' He can just imagine the things people could think up to say about him, so he's got to deal for now.

When they get into the ballroom, Zayn goes straight for the donations table, pulling out his chequebook as he goes. He writes out a cheque for a large number, and smiles at the woman who thanks him for his generosity before searching for something to drink. He finds a bar in another room, just off the ballroom, and orders himself a shot while the guy sitting on the stool next to him eyes him with interest. Liam hovers just behind him, and that's possibly the reason why Zayn orders a second shot.

"What time is it?" he mumbles a while — and only one more shot, he can't trust himself to have more than that— later, trying not to lean heavily on Liam. He leans against the wall instead.

"About ten-thirty," Liam answers.

Zayn lets out a sigh of relief. "Perfect. Let's go."

"We're leaving?" Liam asks, sounding surprised. Or maybe Zayn's just a little too tipsy and he's imagining things. He's not sure.

"You don't want to?"

Liam makes a face at him. "I've been ready to go since that girl said J-Lo. I just thought you'd want to stay longer."

"Definitely not." He starts moving through the room, aware of Liam keeping up with him, always keeping up with him, always just behind him.

On their way out, he says a stuttering goodbye to a few people, like Laura William's, who held the event, who thanked him for his donation, and Jordan Pits, who happens to be one of the few people here that he actually likes, while Liam makes sure the car is waiting for them. And then he and Liam are heading for the big double doors that lead to outside.

The first thing he does when he gets outside is take a huge breath of fresh air. And then he freezes, hearing the sound of camera shutters clicking. He looks to his left, and he sees — what's her name? Amanda? Miranda? Something like that — someone talking to the paparazzi, flicking her golden hair over her shoulder as she says, "I just  _love_  charity."

Zayn takes a hesitant step, and it's like they can sense movement, because the next thing he knows they're all turning to him. Instead of moving, which would probably be the best idea, he stumbles back a step and lets out a surprised, "Oh." So maybe he wasn't staying as sober as he thought. His brain is lagging, running too slowly to process and think of a way out of this.

Lights blind him, and he wonders, distantly, why they have to use flash. Like, seriously? Can they not?

"Zayn! Is it true that—?" "Did you really—?" "Is this your—?"

Video cameras are shoved in his face, and someone grabs his arm, but it's  _not_  Liam, which is what has panic settling in his stomach. He can't see two feet in front of his face, not past the cameras and the people and the occasional flash. Every sound seems to blend together until no words are coherent, and he lifts one hand to cover his eyes and another to try to put a bit of distance between himself and everyone else.

And then a body is standing in front of him, easily shielding Zayn. They might get more footage of him after that, but it can't be more than the corner of his eye, one of his hands, maybe a foot peaking between Liam's legs.

Someone ducks around Liam, but Liam easily blocks Zayn with his body again, lifting a hand to block the camera. He reaches behind himself, circling Zayn's wrist with his hand. Zayn is too dazed, a little too buzzed, and too shocked to do much more than stumble along behind him when Liam starts carefully pulling him down the steps.

At one point he manoeuvres them so Zayn is in front of him, and then they're at the car, he's pulling open the door and unceremoniously shoving Zayn inside and slamming the door closed behind them. Within seconds of Liam shutting his own door, the cameramen push up against the car. The windows are too tinted for them to see inside, but Zayn can see out. Can see them trying their best to get another picture, shouting more questions.

The moment they pull away from the building, Liam's hand grabs his in the dark. Zayn breathes easier again.

His relief is short lived. As soon as they get to his building, he sees them out front. At least ten, all waiting by the front door. It's not the first time, but usually their doorman Carl looses his temper and threatens to call the police if they don't leave.

"Fuck," Liam murmurs, leaning over to see out Zayn's window. He doesn't swear all that often, Zayn's starting to notice. Maybe only when it's really called for, and he thinks that this is definitely one of those times. "Is there a back entrance?"

Zayn nods but he's not up for going through all that effort. He fishes around in his back pocket and calls Harry.

Okay, maybe it's not the effort. Maybe it's just the fact that he doesn't want to be alone tonight. Doesn't want to stumble into bed, slightly drunk, exhausted, and feeling more than a little shaken after the adrenaline rush of what happened back there. He can't stay in an empty flat tonight.

Harry picks up on the third ring with a shouted, "Can you please stop yelling for two seconds?!"

Zayn pulls the phone away from his ear with a wince. "Harry?"

"No, okay? I didn't touch your— I  _didn't_!" A pause. "Don't you dare, Louis. Don't you — I'm sorry, Zayn, I'll call you back. My psycho roommate is about to dump out my entire bag of trail mix because he thinks that I — not the one with the raisins, Louis!"

"I just wanted to know if I could stay there tonight," Zayn says quickly, trying to cup a hand over the receiver because he doesn't want Liam to hear him (which is kind of difficult, given the fact that they're sitting right beside each other). "I don't want to be alone tonight, can I just—"

"I'm so sorry," Harry says in a rush. He hears a door shut, figures Harry ducked into the bathroom. "You know you're welcome at any time, but tonight is just not a good one. We've been fighting for the last hour, and I doubt it's going to stop any time soon."

This isn't surprising. All they do anymore is fight or avoid each other, and it's starting to get annoying. Can't they just make up? Admit their feelings? Stop being so ridiculous about everything? But it's not Zayn's place to say this, as Louis and Harry have both told him countless times, so he doesn't.

"Yeah, it's — don't worry about it. Thanks anyways."

"Sorry," Harry repeats sincerely. "I'll come over tomorrow. We'll have lunch. Catch a movie. Love you, okay?"

"Love you, too," Zayn mumbles. He hangs up first, holding his phone in his hands. He blinks out the window, wondering why he feels like crying all of a sudden, and presses his fists to his eyes to stop it.

Liam clears his throat loudly. Fuck, Zayn almost forgot about the fact that someone was  _witnessing_  this. "How inappropriate would it be if I offered for you to stay at mine tonight?"

Zayn looks up at him, eyes narrowed, lips parted in surprise. "What?"

Liam makes an embarrassed face and says, "It's just that you said you didn't want to be alone, and I figure you can't use the front door at your building anyways, so — how inappropriate would it be for me to offer for you to stay at my place?"

"I—  _really_  inappropriate," Zayn gets out through his shock.

"As inappropriate as you making me your date tonight? Or you not informing me of that fact until we were practically in the door?"

He has a point, he does, but that doesn't change the fact that Liam is walking on really thin ice here. No matter how nice he is (or attractive, his mind unhelpfully supplies), any employer would have fired him by now. Liam has an issue with crossing the line between business relationship and friends, which is something 90% of the people Zayn knows would fire him for. But Zayn does the same, doesn't he? He does nothing but encourage this, and he can't put the full blame on Liam.

"I don't think that would be the best idea," Zayn says softly.

Liam shrugs. "Okay. Suit yourself."

Zayn has the driver loop around back to his building, but the paparazzi are still outside. So is the doorman, now, who looks furious and is trying to shoo them all away. He bites at his tongue until it hurts and asks, "How far away do you live, exactly?"

Liam grins and leans forward to talk to the driver. "Just where you picked me up, if you remember."

"Of course, Mr. Payne," the driver says.

Liam leans back and grins out the window while Zayn watches him in the passing light coming from the streetlamps that they drive by. How is this grinning kid the same man who'd used his entire body to shield Zayn tonight? It doesn't make sense. Honestly, it doesn't.

Neither does the fact that he's going home with Liam, but he's not really thinking about that. Or — he's  _trying_ not to. But, like, it's not his fault that there's paparazzi converged outside his building or that his best friends are idiots so he can't crash somewhere else or that Liam offered him somewhere to stay. It's not. And he's sticking to that claim if anyone asks.

It feels like they drive all the way to the other side of town. When Zayn looks outside, the first thing he realizes is that, yeah, they did drive to the other side of town. They're in front of a squat apartment building that looks almost like it's sagging to the left. The front door is made out of glass, but the bottom pane must have been broken recently since there's a taped piece of cardboard in place of the glass.

"Thanks, Roger," Liam says when the car comes to a complete stop.

He almost asks who the hell Roger is, but then the driver lifts his hand in a goodbye, and Zayn realizes that he never even thought to ask the guy's name, despite the fact that he'd been driving Zayn around the city almost exclusively for months. Liam obviously did, and this makes him feel guilty. He promises to call and make sure Roger gets a really good tip.

As soon as Zayn steps from the car, it's pulling away. Zayn watches it go before taking a look around, and he's sort of regretting his decision. In the distance, he can hear a couple fighting. And a car zooms past, going way over the speed limit, music pounding as it passes even though all the windows are closed, while someone's alarm goes off on the other side of the street.

"You coming?" Liam asks. He's holding open that half-broken door, an expectant look on his face.

Zayn nods and hurries inside. Though inside isn't better than the outside. The stairwell is dirty and there's empty beer cans on the floor of the second landing. Liam continues upwards without even a glance at them, while Zayn carefully steps to avoid them.

"It's better in my flat," Liam promises, and Zayn thinks that better than this wouldn't be all that hard to accomplish, honestly.

Liam lives on the very top floor, in the back left corner. His door sticks twice when he tries to open it, and he lets out a nervous laugh before slamming his shoulder against it. It pops open, and Liam waves him inside.

"It's a little cramped," Liam admits, "but I'm saving up money, and this place is really cheap compared to everywhere else I looked."

'A little cramped' is a bit of an understatement. When you walk in, you're literally standing in the kitchen. Which consists of about two feet of counter space, a small sink, a fridge against the wall that looks like it was considered new in the late '80s, maybe, and a dingy old stove. There's a few feet of tile, and then you're in the living room, which has just enough room for a love-seat (not a full sofa) and a small TV stand. It's  _maybe_  wide enough that Zayn could lay down without his head and feet hitting opposite walls, but he sort of doubts it.

It is nice, though. It's incredibly spotless, and the furniture seems new. The walls are painted a nice grey and it looks like the light fixtures were recently replaced. But still. The living room and kitchen area alone is about the size of Zayn's ensuite. "It's, um…. How much are we even paying you, Liam?"

Liam blinks at him. "More than enough to afford this place," he says quickly. "Like I said, I'm saving up, that's all. And it's only this small because I wanted a one bedroom, not a studio. The studios for the same price were larger, but I like to have a separate area for sleeping and everything else, you know?"

"Right." Zayn nods slowly.

Liam tilts his head to the side, lips twitching up. "You hate it."

"I haven't even seen the entire flat," Zayn points out.

"You still hate it," Liam insists, but he doesn't look upset. He looks — amused. "We can't all be millionaire popstars that live in apartments that cost more than some people make in their entire lives. Come on, I'll show you the bedroom and get you something to wear besides that suit. You look like you're ready for bed."

It isn't until he's kicked off his shoes and followed Liam through the small hallway (with a door on each side, one leading to the bedroom and one to the bathroom) and into the bedroom that it really hits him. He's literally standing in Liam's (admittedly shoebox sized) bedroom in his socked feet with a suit on that probably costs more than several month's rent at this place. But that's not what makes him uncomfortable. Actually, he likes the little apartment, weirdly enough. He shouldn't be inside it, though. He shouldn't be staying the night here. He can just imagine what people would say. And while he doesn't give a fuck about rumours, this isn't a rumour. This is legitimately happening and he can just  _picture_  Old Willy's face if Zayn got caught here. And Liam's, once Willy no doubt fired him.

But Liam's busy digging around in the closet, which has a bunch of shelves, kind of like a built in dresser, and Zayn can't seem to force himself to walk away. He knows he should, logically. He just  _can't_.

"Here," Liam says, handing him a few articles of clothing. He keeps a couple in his arms and steps back into the hallway. "If you go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, the hot water in the sink doesn't work, and you have to hit the handle on the toilet twice for it to flush, just so you know."

"Okay."

"Goodnight, Zayn," Liam says, reaching for the door handle.

"Wait." He puts his foot between the door and the wall so Liam can't close it. "Where are you going?"

Liam makes a face, like the answer is obvious and Zayn is a bit slow. "The couch?"

"I'm not kicking you out of your own bedroom," Zayn says. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"Trust me," Liam says while already backing down the hallway, "you don't want to sleep on my couch. And I don't mind, honestly."

"Liam—"

"Goodnight, Zayn," he repeats, and Zayn knows that it's a lost battle. Liam is too damn stubborn, and he's not going to let up on this.

With a sigh, he pulls Liam's door closed and carefully undresses, knowing Maxx would kill him if he did something to ruin the suit. He folds it, pulls on the sweatpants and t-shirt Liam gave him, and looks around for somewhere to put it. There really isn't anywhere, though. The bedroom is literally a room with a bed. There's nothing else. And it's a small bed, the size of the one Zayn had growing up with. Half the size of his king mattress at home, maybe smaller.

Through the small, closed window in the room, he hears the loud sound of traffic. There's a thump on the wall suddenly, and he jumps. It's followed by a giggle, and then someone shouts, "Sorry, Liam!" and he realizes that the walls here are so thin that Liam apparently converses with his neighbours through them.

He decides then and there that he's going to see what he can do about getting Liam a raise and getting him out of this place.

—

He wakes up to the sound of someone singing. At first, he thinks it's a dream. Then he chalks it up to Louis breaking into his apartment to watch X Factor reruns again. It isn't until he rubs at his eyes and blinks them open that he realizes he's wrong. Because he's not in his flat. He's in a tiny bed that smells like  _not him_  and there's a small, curtain covered window that is so definitely not the floor to ceiling window in his own room.

The singing gets louder for a moment, and he realizes that he recognizes both the voice  _and_  the song. "I'll be there in the morning if you just stay with me tonight," he hears Liam sing, and he hesitantly sits up, trying not to make any noise.

The smell of coffee is heavy in the air, bitter richness mingling with Liam's pleasant, surprisingly talented voice. He's a little off-key, but Zayn can't hear any music so he figures Liam's got headphones in, and that happens to the best of singers when they can't hear themselves. It still sounds nice. Really nice.

With a soft smile on his face, Zayn crawls out of the bed and steps towards the door. He opens it as quietly as he can, trying not to alert Liam to the fact that he's up, just yet.

Liam's in the kitchen (though all he'd have to do is move back another step or two to bed in the living room), pushing things around in a frying pan with a wooden spoon. Just as suspected, he's got headphones in, and he doesn't notice at all that Zayn's leaning against the doorway between the hallway and the living room, just watching him (which is probably creepy, he realizes, but he can't stop himself). There's coffee brewing in the pot, whatever he's cooking smells great, and Zayn feels — perfect, in this moment. One of the greatest mornings he's had in years, weirdly enough, and he's having it in a shitty little apartment in one of the more rundown areas of town with Liam Payne.

He's not sure what he does that gets Liam's attention, but one minute he's singing the chorus of Zayn's second single, a slight sway in his hips as he cooks, and the next he's turning, eyes widening, and then he's pulling his headphones out and flushing a deep, kind of adorable red from the tips of his hears down to his neck. "You're awake," he says, a high-pitched quality to his voice.

Zayn fakes a yawn, covering his mouth to hide his smile. "Barely, but yeah," he says while pushing away from the wall. "Nice taste in music, by the way."

Liam, if possible, looks even more embarrassed. "It came on shuffle," he explains. "I didn't think you'd be up for a while. I'm an early riser."

Zayn wants to tease him a bit, almost can't resist, but he has a feeling that it'll come out sounding more flirty than he means it to, so he doesn't. "You're burning breakfast, by the way."

" _Shit_." Liam turns back to the pan, waving a hand to get rid of the smoke. "Fuck. How do you burn eggs? I didn't even realize that was possible."

Zayn makes his way back through Liam's apartment, feeling weirdly comfortable, even if this is his first time being here. He grabs his phone from the room and holds it to his ear on the way back into the living room, already waiting while it rings. He may have, like, four take-away places on speed dial. Possibly.

Liam moves the pan to one of the burners that aren't on and leans against the small counter while Zayn put in an order. He covers the receiver, asks Liam for the address, and Liam demands, "What are you doing?"

"Ordering breakfast, obviously," he answers. "Least I can do, after you let me crash here last night and slept on the sofa. Now address, Liam." Liam looks a bit annoyed as he lists it off, but Zayn ignores him as he repeats it to the woman on the phone. "Alright, thank you."

"You didn't have to do that," Liam says when Zayn hangs up. "I could have made us something else."

"I don't mind."

He can almost see Liam's mind running on overdrive as he sucks on his bottom lip. He's got expressive eyebrows, Liam, and they twitch down into a frown before smoothing out several times before he blurts, "They want me to come on tour with you."

Zayn — wasn't expecting that. Actually, he was expecting Liam to get annoyed with him for something Harry occasionally likes to refer to as 'throwing around his money without a second of hesitation'. "Excuse me?"

Liam runs a hand through his hair and starts pacing, which is quite the accomplishment, given the small square footage of this place. Zayn watches him from his low-down spot on the couch, too stunned to move or talk. "That's why I'm up so early," Liam explains. "I got the call today. Originally I was supposed to just stay with you while you're in the city, you know? That's all my contract is for. But then — what's her name? Eleanor, I think, called me today, and she said they'd like to have a meeting with me in the office. And I panicked, right? I thought I was fired or something. I mean, you've kind of got a million reasons to, honestly, because I'm really bad at the whole 'strictly business relationship' thing, but then she said it was about the tour.

He pauses to suck in a breath. "And I asked what she meant, and she said that they'd like for me to accompany you on the European leg of your tour, and, if I was up for it, the North American part, too. Said that you'd already have a full security coming with you, but that you hate taking them with you when you go anywhere private, and since you've been pretty okay with me coming with you recently they thought it'd be good for everyone." He keeps pacing, going from the kitchen, past Zayn on the couch, almost all the way to the back wall before turning and heading back. "I'd get a raise, she said. And the money is great. But I — it's a lot to agree to. I'm not sure if I'm one of those people that can handle living out of a suitcase for weeks, going from city to city on a small bus with a group of people. And you leave in  _two weeks_. I've got  _two weeks_  to make a life changing decision, and it's sort of stressing me out."

Why did no one think to ask Zayn about this? No one has mentioned  _anything_  about this to him. And obviously it's something that's been in consideration for a while, so there was multiple chances to. Shouldn't they have asked Zayn first if he'd mind Liam following him all around the world? Isn't that something he should have a say in, considering it will seriously effect his entire life?

Of course, he could always throw a fit, say he doesn't need or want Liam to come, and they'd have to listen to him this time when he's already got an entire security crew and Liam coming is unnecessary. But — does he want to do that? Not really. But does he want Liam to become an even bigger part of his life? Fuck, they see each other only once, maybe twice a week at this point, and Zayn's already crashing at his place. It'd probably be for the best if Liam didn't agree, because who knows what would happen if they were pushed together even more.

That's a really selfish thing to think, though. Like Liam said, the money would be great. And it'd be a really big opportunity for his career. Being able to put on his resume that he was Zayn's personal bodyguard during his 2013 tour could open many doors for him, and it'd be unfair of Zayn to want him to not take that opportunity just because he's afraid of — what? What is it, exactly, that he's afraid of? Them becoming friends? Because being friends with Liam Payne doesn't seem like it'd be all that bad.

But it's not being friends with him, is it? It's more than that. He likes the way Liam smiles too much. Likes the way his stupid arms look beneath that long-sleeved shirt he's wearing right now. Likes the way he can go from laughing adorably to dangerously serious in seconds when he has to. Likes the way he feels when he knows Liam's right behind him, always there if Zayn needs. In essence, he already likes Liam too much, even if he has trouble admitting that to himself, and God only knows how easy it'd be to fall for him if he wasn't careful.

"I'm not going to lie and say it's easy," Zayn says after a moment of silence, in which Liam continues to wear a path into his carpet. "It's not. It can get to you, being away from the comforts of home, never staying in one place for long enough to really get comfortable for months. But it can also be really awesome. It's exciting and the entire crew is great, not to mention Harry and Niall and Louis and Josh being there the entire time. I'd think it over, if I were you. Don't make any concrete plans yet, because you might change your mind."

Liam nods quickly and stops, hands fisted at his sides. "Do you want me to, though? You should have as much say in this as I do. It'll effect you just as much, almost."

"Who says I didn't already say yes to the idea?"

Liam snorts. "The shocked look on your face when I told you, maybe?"

"Fair enough," Zayn says. He shrugs. "I don't know. I don't think I'd mind having you around all that much."

"All that much," Liam repeats. "Wow, don't sound too excited, Zayn. Wouldn't want to strain yourself."

Zayn would throw something at him, if he had anything except for his phone within grabbing distance. "Do you think there's a chance you'll say yes?" he finds himself asking, with a slightly hopeful tilt to his voice, even though he totally didn't mean for that to happen.

Liam sighs and falls onto the couch next to him; he sinks in even more than Zayn had, but he does it with ease and comfort, like he's used to it and knows that he won't get stuck forever in the depths of the cushions (which Zayn is kind of concerned about). "I don't know," he admits. "We'll see."

"Guess we will."

—

Zayn rapidly chews the wad of gum in his mouth as he sits in the uncomfortable plastic chair. There's a door and a long hallway between himself and the entrance to the stage, but even from here he can hear Harry's voice mixing with Louis', and Niall's guitar and Josh's drums. Can hear the thousands of fans screaming and singing along to them, and it eases some of the nerves.

It's just that — it's the first show of the tour. It's not the first time he's playing most of these songs for a crowd, but still. The first show and the last show are always the hardest. What if his fans suddenly change their minds? What if they hate it? What if Zayn's voice has finally taken too much damage from all those cigarettes that everyone says will ruin it and he can't sing?

There's so many possible things that can could wrong with live shows, and each one of them flits through his mind, one after another. He can't keep sitting here, he realizes. He needs to go outside and have another cigarette, even if it's going to ruin his voice. He doesn't care.

As soon as he steps out the door, his stage manager is there, headpiece in her ear. "Where are you going?" she asks.

"Cigarette," Zayn mumbles.

"Get Liam," she orders. "He's by the stage, watching the show. I just passed him."

Zayn is still adjusting to the fact that Liam's here. They'd left earlier this morning, Zayn piling his bags into the compartment of the bus, Louis, Harry, Niall and Josh doing the same in their own. They got their own bus, his security team shared their own bus, and Zayn had his own. An entire bus, all to himself. And while he was watching the driver load up his bags (while trying to offer to help, though no one ever actually lets him) he watched Liam get out of a cab.

No one would tell him if Liam agreed or not. Every time he'd spoken to Liam the last two weeks, he'd just said he was still thinking about it, or he refused to answer. And he'd called El to ask her, too, but she said that it wasn't her place to talk about Liam's contract with him (which is so dumb because he's technically Liam's boss, isn't he?).

He still isn't sure how he feels about it. How he feels about knowing Liam will be there every time he turns. While that fact usually makes him feel safer, recently it's made him anxious, too, and he can't quite explain it. Again, he thinks back to that day in the rain when Liam had grabbed his wrist, and then he thinks to the night of the charity event when Liam had held his hand in the car, and also waking up to find Liam singing and dancing in his tiny little apartment, and he knows that something's there. Something that weighs heavily between them, important even if Zayn refuses to acknowledge it.

The music from the stage gets louder the farther down the hall he goes, and then he's pushing open the door to the room just beside the stage. There are other people here, ones that are bustling around, probably frantically making sure the lights and equipment are working. None of them pay him any mind as he heads to the one lone figure watching the show on stage.

"Hey," Zayn says loudly, voice raised to be heard over Harry's cooing on stage. He looks out, watching as his best friend does some pretty inappropriate things with his microphone. Zayn is going to have to have another chat with him about the fact that the majority of their fan base is under the age of eighteen.

Liam turns to him, and he's got this — fuck, this illuminating smile on his face. His eyes are almost fever bright, and the sunny look on his face doesn't dim at all when he looks at Zayn. "I've never been to a concert like this," he says, and Zayn has to look back to the stage because someone could get a sunburn being exposed to that warm smile for too long. "Is it always this incredible?"

"I guess," Zayn answers.

Liam bumps their shoulders together. "You didn't tell me they were this good! Harry's got an incredible voice."

Zayn nods his agreement. They wouldn't be his opening act if they didn't deserve it, even if they're his best friends. It's not his call on who gets the opening act, but his managerial team thinks that they all work so well together, and why mess with a good thing?

The songs ends and Liam lets out a whoop along with the crowd. On stage, Harry turns and waves to them, and Louis follows his gaze before doing the same. Zayn watches, and he's probably the only one, except maybe Josh and Niall, who notices the way Louis' eyes narrow at Harry's back, or the fact that they're not standing close to each other, the way they usually are. They normally interact more, too, dancing around the stage, stealing each other's mics. There's none of that playfulness in the air tonight, and he knows that it's because of the riff between the two of them. He wishes there was something he could do, but he knows there's not.

The next song starts up, and Liam bobs his head to the music. He looks like a dork. Like a muscular, extremely attractive dork, but still. And at some point between this song and the next, Zayn forgets that he was coming to get Liam so he could go outside for a cigarette. When he remembers, he can't make himself pull Liam away from this; not when he looks so damn happy.

He stays there beside Liam for the rest of the set, until someone's coming up to him, telling him he needs to get to the basement so he can get on his platform, which will be lifted up onto the stage when it's time for his show to start.

He's heading for the door, following behind his stage manager, when Liam calls, "Good luck, Zayn."

Zayn chews his gum a little faster.

In the basement, someone holds out a small trash bin to him. He spits out his gum as someone else comes over and fixes his hair, and then his earpiece, and then he's moved over a bit so he's on the platform. Everyone around him talks as if he's not there, and then he hears the opening beat to the first song, and he swallows thickly.

"Three," someone says. Zayn balls his hands into fists. "Two." He takes a shuddering breath. "One. And we're going  _up_."

It's a little disconcerting, his ascent to the stage. Slowly, he inches upwards, thing becoming visible in fractions. First the floor of the stage, then the lights flashing, then the crowd, thousands of faces blurring together, all here for  _him_. It's not something he'll ever get used to, he knows. A million years of this and it would still surprise him every time it dawned on him that so many people care about his music.

When the platform stops moving, and he's standing on the stable stage, he wraps a hand around the mic in front of him and grins.

There's a small intermission, a short break where he goes and changes his outfit which also gives him enough time to use the bathroom if he has to, or to get a drink. As he runs off stage, he realizes that Liam is still in the same spot Zayn left him, a dazed look on his face. He's not grinning this time, he's just staring at Zayn even as Zayn jogs past him, no time to stop and ask him if he's okay.

This time, when he goes back on stage, he's acutely aware of Liam's presence. It throws him off, has him distracted, but the cheering of the crowd makes him think that no one notices. At least that's what he hopes.

—

It becomes a thing, Liam standing watch during every show. Zayn knows Liam's there for him, because he has to go outside with Zayn if he wants a cigarette, or because Liam's right there getting Zayn to and from the building, even though the rest of his security team is always there too. But every time Zayn considers pulling Liam away from where he's watching Harry and Louis sing out the same songs again, or the crowd screaming, or whatever it is that he chooses to focus on, he just can't. By the third show he knows every song their band does off by heart, and Zayn finds himself planted just beside the stage, too, watching Liam watch the show.

If anyone else notices it, they don't mention anything. Zayn's glad because he doesn't think he could handle any questions about it. Doesn't think he could come up with any honest answers.

When they're on their way to their fourth city, hours away from their previous stop, Niall, Josh and Harry are on his busy with him. He's grateful. He's constantly in it alone, and whenever they drive overnight he's stuck sleeping in the large bed (different from the bunkbeds everyone else gets) with the sound of the tires and engine rumbling underneath him, staring up at the ceiling, wishing he had someone else there. Wishing he'd forced Harry to stay with him, or any of the others, just so he didn't have to be alone. He doesn't get why he and the others can't just  _share_  a tour bus. Why he has to get one of his own. It's pointless.

Right now, Niall and Josh are playing on the gaming system, arguing with each other every few seconds over who's winning. These arguments seem to only end with kissing, so Zayn doesn't pay much attention to them. Harry's sprawled out in the back room with him, taking up most of Zayn's bed.

And Zayn's writing. Has been for the last couple hours. Not everything's coming out perfect, but it rarely does. He's still buzzing off the show they'd finished not half a day before, and he keeps going back to that moment where he'd looked off stage and Liam had been watching him again. And, just like that first time, he hadn't been smiling or singing along like he did with the band. He'd just been watching. It fucks with Zayn's head.

"Can I hear it?" Harry asks. "What you're working on?"

Zayn looks up at him. "No," he says flatly.

Harry grins. "Why? Let me guess, it's an entire song dedicated to the depths of Liam's eyes. Or maybe his biceps."

Zayn blinks down at the page, notices a part where he may have written something about eyes, and — "Fuck off," he mumbles.

Harry laughs for a moment, but he stops and rolls until Zayn has to move his notebook. Harry's head falls into his lap, and he blinks up at Zayn with wide green eyes. "You're in love with him," he states. It's so not a question, but Zayn treats it like one anyways.

"No, I'm not. He works for me. That'd be stupid," he says firmly. Because he's not in love with Liam. He's not. He's — infatuated, a bit. Smitten, maybe. But he — he doesn't really know Liam. All he does know is that Liam smiles widely when he's really happy, and he's one of those people that has to sway along to the beat, and mouth along to the words of whatever's playing. And he's very good at shielding Zayn's entire body from the rest of the world when he needs it, and he's also good at knowing when Zayn needs nothing more than a hand in his own to calm him down. And he laughs like he loves the world and is endearingly wide-eyed over most things.

Liam is one of those people that likes life. Not cynical, not a downer. He just  _enjoys things_  without pretence. Without caring if he looks like a dork or something. And Zayn likes that, possibly has a tiny crush on him, but who wouldn't, really?

He's not  _in love_ , though. He doesn't fall that easily. Which is why he tries to avoid spending time alone with Liam outside of work, because he  _could_  fall, is the issue. If Liam opened himself up like a book for Zayn to read, he has a feeling he'd want to ink every word onto his skin so he could keep them forever. So he hasn't given them the chance for that. Hasn't given them the opportunity to  _really_  get to know each other, beneath the surface.

"So what if he works for you?" Harry scoffs. "Big deal."

It is a big deal, though. Because it's not just a 'feelings' issue. It's the fact that Liam  _does_  work for him, and what happens if one of them does something they'll regret? What happens if Zayn gives in and finally learns just how those lips feel against his own? Because it might not work out. One of them might decide they don't want the other. Relationships don't always last forever, and then what? He fires Liam? Liam quits? That's really not fair to him. That there'd be no consequences on Zayn's part while Liam would be risking everything.

Zayn looks down at him, eyebrows raised pointedly. "Mixing business with pleasure never works. Look at you and Louis. Your personal relationship has —"

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry says calmly. "He's locked himself in our tour bus and refuses to talk to me for reasons unbeknownst to me, and I don't want to talk about him because I think he's being a jerk."

"Harry," Zayn sighs, but he's smiling on the inside, happy for this change of subject. "Why don't you both just —"

"Nope," Harry says loudly, covering his ears, "not talking about it. Avoiding the problem completely. La la la la la."

Zayn punches his shoulder. "Immature twat," he mutters fondly. "But you're going to have to deal with it eventually."

"Deal with what?" Harry asks.

"The fact that you're both—"

"Not listening!" Harry covers his ears once more. "The only love life I'm willing to talk about is yours and Liam's. Not even Josh and Niall because they're disgusting and PDA is also disturbing."

"Heard that!" Niall shouts from the couch.

Zayn rolls his eyes and shoves at Harry. "Can I go back to writing now?"

Harry nods and rolls off him. He lets Zayn write in peace for a bit, but after a while he sits up and pushes a hand through his hair. "There's another Liam thing I wanted to talk to you about." Zayn blinks at him. "He's been looking exhausted lately. I don't think he's sleeping well on the other bus."

Zayn may have noticed this. Noticed the slightly pale look to Liam's skin the last two days, and the bags under his eyes. But he'd told Liam before they left that it'd be hard, that it gets to you, that it's not just flashy shows and fun parties, this lifestyle. And Liam had come anyways.

"And?" Zayn asks offhandedly, like he doesn't care as much as he honestly does.

"I think you should ask him to share your bus with you."

Zayn's hand jerks, pen sliding across the page. He scratches out half a line and rips the edge of the page, and he glares up at Harry for causing this. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Harry says with a grin. "Invite him to share your bus. Call Eleanor or whatever her name is and tell her you'd like to share your bus with him. It'd make Liam's life a lot easier, and it'd make you less lonely. And don't look at me like you wouldn't totally love it, because you would."

"That," Zayn says, gaze firmly on his notebook instead of meeting Harry's eyes, "is a bad idea."

"I think it's a great idea!" Josh puts in.

"Ditto," Niall adds.

Zayn glares down at his notebook. "And I think everyone else should not butt into my private life, maybe."

Harry ruffles his hair. "We  _are_  your private life."

Zayn goes back to writing and pretends that this whole conversation never happened. But later, when Niall and Josh have passed out on the couch, too tired to move to their own bus when they stop at a gas station for fuel and food, and Harry's curled up like a cat in Zayn's bed, he lays awake and stares up at the ceiling once more. And Harry's words replay themselves in his mind, accompanied by the image of a tired-eyed Liam.

With an annoyed grunt, Zayn climbs out of bed, carefully doing his best to not wake Harry. He tugs on a his sweater, hanging off the doorknob, and moves through the bus until he's at the door.

The gas station is small and sort of in the middle of nowhere. It's kind of creepy, the sort of place where horror movies start with some crazy truck driver murdering a group of teenagers or something (which Zayn will probably have nightmares about now), but at least the station itself is still open, and he can see shelves lined with snacks even from here.

Zayn isn't the only one getting up for a stretch. It's got to be two in the morning, maybe later, but Louis is out of his bus, too, and he sees Liam stumbling around in the shop and heads inside. He finds Liam standing in front of a shelf with candy bars, a contemplative look on his face.

"Always go with the Reese's," Zayn says, reaching for a pack of his own. He grabs two, actually, just because.

Liam startles and makes a surprised sound before he realizes it's Zayn. "It's two in the morning," he points out, voice slurred with sleep. "'s not healthy."

Zayn lets his eyes move over Liam's body before he can stop himself, clothed in loose sweatpants and a simple tank top. He's got to be freezing, but he still looks great. "I think you're good to cheat just this once," he says pointedly.

Liam sucks on his bottom lip before grabbing a pack of peanut butter cups for himself, too. "S'pose you're right."

Zayn grabs a few things before they head for the counter, like a thing of crisps for Niall and a bottle of that flavoured fizzy water shit that Josh is so fond of, and a bag of trail mix with dried fruit for Harry. Liam follows him through the store, not grabbing anything else for himself, and Zayn wonders if he's having trouble making up his mind again, or if he's just so used to following after Zayn by this point that he does it even when he doesn't have to.

When they get to the counter, Zayn puts Liam's candy with his own, ignoring Liam's sound of protest. He takes his change and the bag, and this time he's following Liam as they head out the door.

The cold night air wakes his brain up a bit more, but Liam still looks exhausted as he rubs at his eyes and waits for Zayn to hand his chocolate bar over. Zayn digs into his bag and does just that, and Liam yawns before giving him a soft, tired smile. "Thanks, Zayn."

"No problem," Zayn replies. Liam starts for his bus, and Zayn can't help but call, "Goodnight, Liam!" at his back. All Liam does is feebly lift his hand in a half-assed wave.

Zayn ignores Louis laughter as he heads back to his own bus, and he also ignores Louis' "Your fond is so obvious, Malik."

But as soon as he's dropped the bag on the table, in clear view for the others when they wake up, he decides that tomorrow, at a more reasonable hour, he'll call Eleanor and talk about moving Liam onto his bus. For Liam's well-being, of course. He needs proper sleep, and he's not used to this, the way the rest of them are. And it has absolutely nothing to do with Zayn wanting Liam near him constantly.

—

Between the next show and the next time they all load onto their buses, Liam moves his things into Zayn's bus. And Zayn possibly hid out in his hotel room the entire time to avoid the awkward conversations that could have happened, or the questions Liam could have asked, like "Do you normally invite members of your security to share your bus with you?" or "Why did you have El ask me to share your bus? Why didn't you just ask me yourself?" which Zayn would rather not answer, thanks.

It isn't until they're on the road again, and he climbs into his bus to find Liam already inside, perching nervously on the edge of the couch, that Zayn realizes just how small his tour bus is. Before, it had seemed so big, ridiculously big for just one person. Now, he can't fathom how he and Liam are going to share this space without practically living on top of each other. Unless Zayn hides out in the back room with his bed and keeps the sliding door shut between them constantly.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Liam asks.

Zayn digs around in the bag he'd brought on board, and he shoves the cheap, plastic wrapped, manufacture made brownie that tastes nothing like homemade into his mouth to avoid having to use his words. He grunts and shrugs, and Liam frowns.

"Did they even ask you about it first?" Liam questions. "Or is it like with the inviting me on tour thing, where they just sprung it on you without giving you a choice?"

Zayn swallows, realizing that it's not a  _frown_  on Liam's face. It's guilt. Mingled with a bit of nervousness. "I asked them to have you share my bus," Zayn admits. "No one forced it on me."

"Oh." Confusion takes over the guilt, and then a small, hesitant smile pulls at Liam's lips. "Thank you."

Zayn shrugs again. "Do you mind if I—?" he points at the back room. "I'm pretty beat."

"Sure, yeah." Liam nods quickly. "Night."

"The couch pulls out into a bed," Zayn adds on his way past. "If you need more room. And there's a gaming system—" He points to it. "— that you can use whenever. Make yourself at home."

Liam nods and thanks him again as Zayn makes his way to the backroom. As soon as he's inside, he shuts the door and locks it, and then he reaches into the small compartment beside the bed, pulling out his box. He gets a piece of gum for himself first, chewing it until the outer shell no longer leaves gritty pieces in the rest of the gum, and then he pulls out his newest notebook. He had to pick another one up the other day since the last one was completely filled.

He manages to get a few lines down, something that was rattling around in his head all day, over and over, words changing occasionally until they fit better in his head. On the other side of the door, he hears the sound of the X Box starting up. It isn't all that loud, easily ignorable if he wanted, but it's all he can focus on.

The sound of a fake engine starting has him biting his lip, and he remembers Niall switching out Halo: Reach for a racing game even though Zayn has explicitly told him three times not to do that. He listens to the game play for minutes with his pen in his hand, and then he shoves another piece of gum into his mouth before putting his stuff away.

Liam looks up when he opens the door, pausing the game. "Is it too loud?" he asks. "I can mute it, if you like."

Zayn shakes his head. "Two player?"

"Sure," Liam says with a grin, scooting down the couch so there's more room.

Zayn grabs a controller and Liam restarts the game. And then he spends, like, three minutes picking his car and changing the colour. Zayn watches as he flicks past car after car, reading the stats, and he finally picks one, but then he switches it seconds later with a mumbled, "Sorry. I always do this. My friends back home hate playing games with me."

Zayn honestly doesn't mind. It's kind of adorable. And when it's his turn, he switches back between two cars and asks, "Which one do you think's better?"

"Hm." Liam's eyebrows furrow. "This one's got a slightly better speed, but the other one handles better. I'd go with the other one. Doesn't matter how fast you can go if you have to slow down every time you want to turn a corner, or risk going off-road."

Zayn picks the car and changes the colour to black, and then Liam starts the game. The countdown starts, and Liam zooms past him. Zayn blinks, mouth falling open, and presses the button harder, like that'll make him go faster. "You cheater!" Zayn laughs. "You made me pick the slower car so you could win!"

"Did not," Liam denies, tongue pressing out between his teeth. He inhales sharply as he turns the corner, and Zayn goes off-road while watching him. "You're just terrible at this game, Zayn, I hate to say it."

"Next time we'll use the same car, then," Zayn argues. "Instead of you rigging it to your advantage."

Liam finishes his first lap, and Zayn's still trying to get his car out of the dirt. His tires keep revving, and this game is so stupid. He never plays it, prefers first-person shooters, like Halo or CoD or Battlefield. But when Liam wins and starts up another game, this time listening to Zayn and both of them picking the same car, he realizes he's having fun anyways.

Half an hour later they're playing a new game, this time motorcycle racing instead of cars, and they've got Zayn's bag of goodies spread out between them, Liam shovelling crisps into his mouth before wiping his hands on his jeans between games, apparently not worried at all  _tonight_  about how unhealthy it is.

Zayn watches Liam's bike skid and crash, and then he's zooming past the heap that is Liam's rider struggling to get back on his bike (Zayn is much better with the dirt-bike racing, apparently), and he laughs before blurting, "What's your most embarrassing memory?"

Liam doesn't pull his eyes away from the screen. "What?"

He didn't mean to ask that, but now that he has… "Come on, most embarrassing memory you have. You share yours and I'll share mine."

Liam furiously clicks buttons, and Zayn follows his lead as he goes up a hill and his rider does some sort of trick, hands lifting off the handlebars. "It's embarrassing," Liam mumbles.

"Yeah, that's the point of it being your most embarrassing memory," Zayn teases.

Liam sucks in a breath. "Okay, but you can't laugh."

"Promise."

"When I was twelve, right, we had this student teacher, Jon. And he really attractive and — I don't know, this was when I was first hitting puberty, okay? I'd get excited over the word breakfast some days." Zayn snorts a laugh that he quickly smothers by eating a peanut butter cup, lest Liam stop telling the story. "Anyways — Oh, god, why am I telling you this? — one day he was helping me with something and he did that thing that teachers do where he squatted beside my desk and — I can't remember what caused it, really. All I know is that I was totally hard when he walked away, and then the kid beside me was like 'Liam has a boner!' and basically I was known as that kid who got a boner in class until my dad got a job across town and I moved schools."

Zayn lowers his controller and brings a fist to his mouth, biting down on the knuckle of one of his fingers. It does nothing to stop the snorting laugh that escapes him, and Liam shoves at his shoulders, cheeks red with an embarrassed grin on his face. "I'm sorry, I said I wouldn't laugh," Zayn says, but he's  _still_  laughing.

Liam pokes his side. "What about you, then? You said you'd tell me yours, so go on. Now it's my turn to laugh at you."

Zayn thinks for a moment. "My mum walking in on me wanking."

Liam looks offended. "Come on!" he protests. "Everyone's had something like that happen. That doesn't count."

"Okay, okay." Zayn holds up his hands defensively and  _really_ thinks, but it comes to him immediately. Pun so not intended. "When I lost my virginity." He rubs a hand over his face, eyes on the screen instead of Liam. "It lasted, like, seconds, and afterwards she, uh— she laughed. Like, she  _literally_  laughed and then started crying and — yeah, basically the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me, hands down. But at least she never told anyone."

Liam's shoulder shake with silent laughter, and Zayn glares at him. No one's first time is good, okay? "Sorry," Liam offers, but he doesn't look it. "It's just — everyone seems to be pretty convinced that you're, like, this sex god or something, and … apparently not."

"I was fifteen!" Zayn argues, indignant. "Trust me, I'm a lot better at it now."

Liam clears his throat and says lowly, "Really."

Zayn has to bite his tongue to stop from saying 'Want me to prove it?' because that would be inappropriate and awkward. "Best memory, this time," he says instead.

In Zayn's opinion, it's easier to share the bad parts of your life with someone than the good parts. It's easier to get hurt by someone who knows everything you love, who knows what matters most to you, because they can use that against you more than the things that you hate. Which is why he's not surprised when Liam says, "I thought we were playing the game, not sharing our innermost secrets."

Zayn shrugs and picks his controller back up. "Okay."

They restart the game, since they'd both screwed up, too busy laughing at each other to play properly. This time Liam's in the lead, but that's probably because Zayn's distracted.

"When I was seven," Liam says, and Zayn nearly jumps because the only sounds for the last five minutes have come from the TV. "My parents were always really strict. I had an eight-thirty bedtime, every night, and they never let us stay up past our bedtimes. But one night I woke up at, like, eleven and I went downstairs to get a drink. My sisters were already asleep, but the TV was on, so I went to check, and my parents were watching a movie. And I tried to be sneaky, because I didn't want to get in trouble, but my mum noticed me anyways, and she asked what I was doing. So I said I was getting a drink, and then — my dad called me over, and my mum shifted a bit so there was room for me between them, and we didn't even talk about it."

He gets this soft, wistful look on his face. "They just let me watch the entire movie with them, and my mum even got us each a bowl of ice cream, and I was so  _tired_. I could barely keep my eyes open, but I forced myself to, just so I could see the end of the movie, though I can't even remember what it was, looking back. All I know is that it was like this secret we all shared, and we never told my sisters about it, and it was just — nice. I don't know why it's my best memory, but it is."

It's just so — normal. Most people have memories like that. Little snippets of their childhood that they can look back on and smile at, but rarely are they someone's best memory ever. And then there's Liam, who claims that his is, with an easy, soft smile and a tiny shrug, like he didn't even have to think hard on it.

And now it's Zayn's turn to share, he knows. That's what the agreement was, only — it's just a lot to share something that intimate with someone. And isn't this exactly what he'd been afraid of when Harry said Liam should stay with him? Getting to know each other too well, because feelings can easily get in the way and complicate things?

"I bought my mum a house and she cried," he blurts anyways. "Um. We weren't exactly poor growing up, or anything, but some months we were just getting by, and our house wasn't that great. It was small, and the electrical was fucked up all the time so only one of the plugs in the kitchen worked and you had to unplug the coffee machine to use the toaster. And the upstairs toilet was constantly breaking, and the basement flooded twice, and the heat in the winter sometimes didn't work. So I promised myself that if I could ever do anything, I'd get my mum a house. A nice one. A big one, something warm and huge and perfect, because she deserves it. She's the greatest person I know, and she deserves it, so I did. And she cried and she hugged me and acted like I'd given her the world, but I really hadn't. But— yeah, best memory ever, hands down."

Liam drops his controller onto the couch and levels him with that same expressionless look he gets every time Zayn looks at him off-stage. "You've sold out hundreds of shows," he says, and Zayn nods because, yeah, he has. "You've won — countless awards. Have three best selling albums. You've had number one singles in dozens of countries. You've met the  _Queen_  and you opened for Usher and you've been called the greatest artist of your generation. And your best memory ever is — is buying your mum a house."

Zayn shifts a bit, shrugs, uncomfortable. "Yeah," he says, frowning at the look of disbelief on Liam's face. "I don't—"

If someone asked him, he honestly could not remember what he was trying to say before his words were cut off. The second Liam's lips touch his, it all just — disappears. Poof. His mind stops working.

Liam's lips miss his a bit, hitting the corner of his mouth. Zayn sits there, stock still, as Liam's lips linger on his own, sticky from the candy and sugary drinks they've had tonight. He should do something, he realizes, but he can't move. He can't  _think_. And then Liam's pulling back quickly, eyes impossibly wide.

"Shit," he says, jumping off the couch. "I shouldn't have done that. I just crossed a huge line, I know. I'm so sorry. You're just so — and I couldn't help it. And I know you don't feel that way too because I was there when you said I wasn't your type during that interview, like I know you don't — and I shouldn't have done that — I  _work_  for you. Business relationship. We have a business relationship and I have no right to — and you didn't —" He sucks in a breath. "Am I fired?"

He looks so freaking worried, like (Zayn doesn't mean to make the analogy, but he can't help it) a puppy that chewed your favourite pair of shoes and knows he's in a lot of trouble. "You're not fired," Zayn says calmly. So calm that he almost pats himself on the back for handling this so well. "You're definitely not fired, Liam, calm down."

Liam shakes his head, like calming down is the last thing he's going to do right now. "You should fire me," he insists. "Because I'm going to want to do that again. And again. It's sort of all I can think about, all the time, actually. Kissing you. Just — yeah. You should fire me."

He probably should. He has countless reasons to, but he also has countless reasons  _not to_. He stands up, going straight over to Liam, and he puts his hands on both of Liam's biceps, mostly because he remembers the last time Liam freaked out like this, and he's got a track record for pacing. Zayn holds him still and says, slowly, carefully, "So do it, then."

Liam blinks at him. At his eyes, first, then at his lips, then his eyes again. He licks his own lips, and Zayn does the same, wishing he could taste Liam there but he can't. "What?"

"Kiss me," Zayn clarifies. "You said you're going to want to do it again, so do it. Go ahead."

Liam shakes his head but he doesn't try to pull away from Zayn at all. "I can't kiss you," he says quickly. "I can't. I'm your  _bodyguard_ , I work for you. I can't."

Zayn sighs. Stubborn, stubborn Liam. "If you work for me, then don't you have to do what I say?"

"Well, technically, I s'pose, but—"

"Kiss me," Zayn says firmly. "That's a direct order from your boss, Liam."

Liam's hand comes up. It brushes over his cheek, thumb sliding over his jaw. Zayn sinks into the touch, eyes closing, and Liam's voice is soft when he asks, "Are you sure?"

Zayn keeps his eyes tightly closed. "No, I'm not."

This time, it's less fumbled. It's slow, soft, Liam's lips gently brushing over his own. One, twice, and then he slides that hand back to cup Zayn's neck, fingers itching up into his hair. Zayn lets his hands fall from Liam's arms down to his waist, and he fists his hands in Liam's t-shirt, like he's holding on for dear life, because he kind of is.

Liam pulls back and Zayn bats open his eyes. They're still close, Liam's breath lingering on his skin, and he looks uncertain. "You call that a kiss?" Zayn teases, refusing to let go of his shirt just yet.

Liam makes a sound of abandonment, and then he kisses Zayn again, differently. His lips are firm and demanding, not unsure and wary. Zayn nearly stumbles backwards from the force of it, but Liam's got a hand on the small of his back now, holding him close, tightly, pulling Zayn flush against him. Zayn just — goes with it. Lets Liam control it all, parting his lips when Liam's coax his open, fingers curling and uncurling against Liam's sides because he can't figure out if he wants to move them somewhere else or keep them there.

It's sweet and salty from the junk food when Liam's tongue brushes against his, and Zayn likes it. Wants more. He tries to push his tongue into Liam's mouth, tries to find more of that dizzying taste, but Liam fights him on it, groaning into his mouth. His hand slides up Zayn's back, rucking up his shirt, and he sort of hopes that his fingertips are leaving imprints on Liam's hips.

Zayn's lips are slick when Liam pulls back this time, resting his cheek against Zayn's. They both just stand there, breathing heavily, neither speaking or moving. The sound of their panting breaths is the only thing in the entire bus, aside from the sound of the engine rumbling beneath them. "Better?" Liam asks.

Zayn pushes him back, just a bit. "Not bad," he says, a smirk sliding onto his lips without his consent. He needs to get out of here, he thinks. Needs to clear his head because he's  _still_  not sure about this.

Liam leans in for another kiss, but Zayn puts out a hand, stopping him. It hits Liam's chest and he freezes, lips still parted, eying Zayn confusedly. "Goodnight, Liam," Zayn pointedly.

"Right." Liam steps back, hand tugging through his hair. "Night."

Zayn makes his way back to the room, sliding the door closed between them. He leans heavily on it, eyes falling closed, and  _breathes_. Until he licks at his lips and tastes Liam there this time. He turns so his back is against the door and decides that he just made one of the best or worst decisions of his life.

He can't figure out which.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

His hair is matted to his forehead with sweat, and his shirt is clinging to his back by the time he gets off stage that night. He didn't have much sleep, due to the fact that Liam was just outside the door the whole night. It kept him awake, tossing and turning, and he heard Liam get up several times, too, like he was having the same issue.

So maybe Zayn offering to let Liam stay in his bus didn't make Liam's life easier, he thinks, because Liam has look just as, if not more, tired the last couple days as he had when he was sharing the bus with the rest of their security. Only now it's fucking with Zayn, too, and he knows that it's mostly his own fault. He's the one who's acted like it all never happened. Refused to answer Harry or Louis when they badgered him about how distant he's been, and he's actually glued himself to Niall and Josh's sides because neither of them are pushy and they're both too wrapped up in each other to question him.

He should write a book, he really should.  _How To Avoid Your Obvious Infatuation With Your Bodyguard: A memoir by Zayn Malik._

He jogs right past Liam, heading for the table with water bottles and shit. He grabs a towel, too, and wipes down his face. Someone wraps their arms around him, and he sinks into the hug until he realizes it's not Liam. Of course it's not Liam. Why would it be Liam?

"Drinks tonight?" Harry asks. "Niall and I wanna get wasted."

Zayn turns, and Harry's arms stay around him. "I don't know if—"

"Please?" Harry begs. "We haven't had a good night out, all of us, in a while."

"All of us?" he asks. "Lou invited then, too?"

Harry rolls his eyes and finally releases his grip on Zayn's sides. "Yes. We've talked, and we've decided to put aside our differences for the sake of the band."

Zayn snorts. "Did you hire a lawyer to come to this agreement?"

Harry gently shoves him. "Just say yes, please. Please. I already told Liam we were going."

"Liam's coming too?" Zayn asks, perking up a bit without even meaning to.

Harry smirks at him. "Uh, considering that he's supposed to follow you everywhere, especially clubs, yes."

How is it that that makes him want to go even more, and makes him want to say no even more, at the same time? He lets his gaze wander over the room until it finally lands on him, but Liam's too busy chatting with Louis to notice. "Yeah, okay," Zayn agrees. He could use a drink, at the very least.

Harry grins. "Brilliant. We're meeting in the hotel lobby at eleven."

Zayn grunts his agreement. He finishes off another water bottle, and then they all make their way out of the building. There's screaming girls outside, lingering behind after the concert with the hope of catching another glimpse of him. Most of his security is there, keeping them at bay, and Zayn's too exhausted to do much, but he still locates a pen and signs a few things, stands for photos with a couple girls who cling to him and act like they're going to hold on forever.

"Can we get a picture with you both?" one of them asks, and Zayn frowns. Both? "You and Liam," she adds, clarifying with a giggle. "He's super fit, too."

Zayn turns and of course Liam's right there, standing just behind him, arms crossed over his chest. He must not have heard the question, because his expression is blank. "Um." Zayn licks at his lips, but she looks so damn hopeful, and her friend is giving him wide pleading eyes, too. "Liam, come 'ere."

Liam's hand goes to the small of his back instantly, and he asks lowly, "Everything okay?"

Zayn nods quickly. "They just, um, want—"

"That's perfect!" the girl says loudly. "Just let me—" She squeezes in between them and her friend gets on Zayn's left, and then she holds out her camera and snaps a picture of them all. "Thank you, you guys are so great."

Liam stumbles back a step, and Zayn turns to him, eyebrows raised. Before he can ask, they're being shuffled into the car waiting for them. Louis is inside, along with Niall. Josh and Harry must have taken a different car, which is a little weird. It's actually off-putting to see Niall without Josh in his lap, at this point.

He pulls on his seatbelt as Liam tugs on his own, and then they're pulling away, the sound of shrieking girls lowering the farther they get. "Fucking crazy," Niall mutters, shaking his head happily. "Every time. It's always fucking crazy."

"Why did they want a picture of me?" Liam asks, tugging at the seatbelt like it's too tight.

Zayn shrugs. "They said you were hot."

Liam still looks lost. "With you right there to compare me to? I don't see how that's even possible."

From the seat in front of them, Louis makes a rude sound and says, "This is why Josh wasn't allowed in the car. I was looking to  _avoid_  this shit."

"Stop being a cynical dick," Niall chides.

Zayn sighs and settles farther into his seat. Without any warning, Liam's hand inches across the seat. Zayn sees it, considers acting like the doesn't, but at the last second he moves his own, locking his fingers into the spaces between Liam's while still staring out the window. When he looks at Liam out the corner of his eyes, Liam's doing the same thing, but with a soft smile on his face.

They pull up to the hotel, and Zayn reluctantly releases Liam's hand. He doesn't want to, though. He wants to grab it again when they exit the car and Liam hovers just behind him, carefully moving him forward every time it looks like he's about to stop. Which is probably a good thing, since security here isn't nearly as tight as it had been at the venue, and stopping to sign things isn't nearly as practical.

They all pile into the elevator, Niall grabbing onto his hand this time because Niall's got an irrational fear of elevators. Liam gets off on the floor just before his own, and he wonders distantly where Liam's staying. He's never thought to ask what the security team does when they stay in hotels, but obviously they get rooms, too. But they probably don't get their own room each, like Zayn does. Most likely they're like Louis and Niall and the others, piling several into a single room because it's cheaper. Zayn wouldn't mind sharing, too, but no one ever asks him.

The first thing he does in his room is shower and change. He washes away the sweat and grime from the show and searches through his clothes for something clean to wear. It's harder than it should be, but he manages to find an only slightly wrinkled t-shirt and he pulls it on with a pair of jeans before ordering room service. He still has about an hour before he has to meet the others, and he's starving.

When his food arrives, he turns on the TV and sprawls out in bed, alternating between eating and changing the channels. But there's barely anything on, mostly just reruns and made for TV movies that he'd rather punch himself than watch. He pulls out his phone and opens Twitter, and send a quick  _Thanks to everyone who came out tonight! You guys were great! :D_ and then scrolls through his feed, just for something to do.

Before he even realizes what he's doing, he's scrolling back up to the top and searching up Liam's name. He clicks Liam's name and notices that the follower count has risen incredibly since the last time he'd seen it. 600k, now, and though his profile picture is the exact same (something that must be old, because Liam's head is shaved) he's been tweeting.

He should stop, he thinks, turn back now instead of stalking Liam online. But he can't.

_zzzzzzayntouchme he's very lovelyyy and very talented : )_

Zayn frowns. Who's lovely and talented? He clicks to read the rest of the conversation, and he sees  _LiamPayne what's the best part about working with Zayn? Also please follow me!thx_

Zayn bites at his thumbnail and keeps reading. He expands them immediately this time instead of trying to figure out what the hell Liam's talking about, and each time he reads a new one he tells himself he'll stop, but then he keeps reading anyways. At least Liam's very professional about it, because he doesn't seem to be answering any questions about Zayn except that first one.

_LiamPayne whats your favourite junk food?_

_heatherPluvsZM Reeses peanut buttercups recently! There greattt :D_

Underneath that is just a simple tweet from Liam that says  _Don't see y youd want me to but I guess ill answer some questions : )_ and beneath that:  _u guys have sum very interesting names lol_.

Zayn snorts a laugh at that. And he kind of finds the whole thing adorable.

He tries to think back, tries to remember if it was like this in his past relationships. Not that he and Liam are in a relationship, because they're not and they can't be, not if Liam wants to keep his job, and Zayn would never let him give it up something that might not work out in the end. But he can't remember ever being this infatuated with someone before the relationship even started. Like with his last boyfriend, he'd been into him, he had, but even at their strongest he didn't — And with his ex girlfriend, he can't remember finding every single thing she did endearing, but with Liam it's like—

Ugh. He needs to stop thinking about it. Maybe it's a good thing they're going out because he really can't spend the whole night dwelling on this.

Zayn is downstairs just before eleven. He's not the only one in the lobby, but he's the only one out of their group. He sees a few employees who eyes him nervously, and someone asks him if he needs anything, but he assures them that he's fine, he's just waiting for friends.

Louis is the first one down the stairs. He's muttering under his breath, tugging at his shirt in irritation. Zayn wraps his arms around him just because, and Louis sighs into it, resting his chin on Zayn's shoulder. "Do I look okay?" he whispers, like he's afraid of someone hearing and realizing that, shocker, he's not as confident as he'd like everyone think.

"You look fine," Zayn says. "Great, even."

Louis lets him go and grins. "Better than your hot as fuck bodyguard?"

Zayn chooses to ignore that, for several reasons. Just outside the glass front doors of the hotel, he can see fans outside, waving around posters, and he smiles to himself but also silently thanks the hotel for putting him in a back-facing room so he can get some uninterrupted sleep for the first time in days.

Niall and Josh come down next, playfully shoving at each other and basically making a scene without even realizing it. "— until later, when we're not in public," Josh is saying while shaking his head.

Niall runs up behind him, caging Josh in his arms. Whatever he says next is too muffled from talking directly against Josh's neck, and Zayn figures that he doesn't want to know anyways. He busies himself with watching the elevator, foot tapping impatiently against the ground. When it opens, Harry steps out and Louis turns and looks away.

"I'm getting you all fired," he mutters under his breath. "I'll have someone else open for me. Maybe an all girl group."

"I can hear you, just so you know," Louis says.

"Good."

"Are we all ready?" Harry asks, looking around. He turns to Zayn, brow furrowed. "Where's Liam?"

"Why are you asking me?" Zayn demands. "I'm not his keeper."

"No, but he's yours," Louis points out. "And don't snap at him."

"Don't tell him what to do," Harry says instantly.

"Don't tell  _me_  what to do," Louis snaps.

"You just told him not to snap at me but it's okay for you—"

Zayn sees Liam coming out of the elevator, and he lets out a sigh of relief, heading straight for him. He doesn't stop walking as he passes Liam, but he does grab Liam's hand and drag him forward. For his part, Liam only makes a surprised sound and allows himself to be guided back to the elevator. Zayn hits the button three times, like pressing it more than once will make it come faster; it doesn't.

Liam squeezes his hand. "Should I even ask, or—?"

"No."

The elevator makes a pinging sound as the door opens, and Zayn pulls Liam inside. He hits the 'close door' button and the one to bring them to the highest floor (sixteen). He keeps Liam's hand in his and starts to worry that someone outside could have seen him grab Liam's hand, but then he decides he doesn't care because that doesn't have to mean anything. Friends hold each others hands, right? He holds Harry's sometimes. Though Harry's hand isn't ever quite as warm, and his fingers aren't slightly callused, like Liam's, and holding Harry's hand never seems to make Zayn feel so grounded.

He reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose when the door slides all the way shut and they start moving. Liam stays quiet, and he lets Zayn breathe for a moment. Which is kind of why Zayn had grabbed him. He needs to just breathe but he doesn't want to be alone, and he loves the others, he does, but he just needs a moment.

"You okay?" Liam asks when they get to the top floor. The doors open, pause, and then shut again. Zayn reaches over and presses the ground floor button.

"Just needed a moment," Zayn explains. Now that he's had it, he think he'd be okay with letting go of Liam's hand. He doesn't. "Sorry."

"No worries," Liam says easily. "Take as many as you like."

Zayn snorts. "The others would leave if I did. They're probably already considering it."

Liam shrugs. "Then we'll meet up with them when you're ready."

"And what if I'm not ever ready?" Zayn asks. "What if I keep you locked in this elevator forever?"

Liam stares at the little device above the door that reads off the floor number. It ticks down from fourteen to eleven before Liam says, "I could think of worse things."

Zayn chews the inside of his lip. 10. 9. 8. 7. "Like what?" he asks.

6\. 5. 4. "Like this elevator breaking and plunging us to our deaths," Liam supplies. "Sharknado becoming a real thing. My mum realizing that it was actually me who broke her vase when I was seven and not Ruth."

The elevator door starts to open, and Zayn lets go of Liam's hand. The others are still waiting, Louis with his arms crossed over his chest, Harry on his phone, and Niall and Josh… being Niall and Josh. Which means they're acting like they're alone, wrapped up in each other, to the point where it'd be nauseating if Zayn weren't honestly happy that they've seemed to find happiness in each other.

"Where were you?" Louis demands, eyebrows raised.

"Had to get something from my room," Liam says easily. "Made Zayn come with me."

"I'm sure Zayn loved coming with you," Louis says with a smirk.

Zayn makes a choking sound, Liam turns red, and Harry starts to laugh until he seems to remember that he and Louis are in a fight, and he schools his face into an annoyed pout. So much for putting aside their differences.

"Let's just go," Zayn says. "The car's probably waiting out front."

It's getting late, and he figures that most of his fans have a curfew, so it's not as packed out front as it had been when they'd arrived. They all pile into a single vehicle, he, Liam and Harry in the back, Josh and Niall in the middle seat, and Louis at the front with the driver.

Zayn's stuck in the middle, trapped between Harry and Liam. And when Liam discreetly grabs his hand, he can't  _not_  curl their fingers together. Harry turns to him, goes to say something, but his eyes drop to where his and Liam's hands are. Zayn moves them back a bit, hidden by his body, but Harry still sees, still grins at him like he thinks this is great and not something completely stupid and reckless and potentially catastrophic, which it actually is.

When they get to the club, Zayn keeps his head ducked and doesn't make eye contact with anyone, just in case they recognize him. They make it inside without incident, and he breathes easier as he and Harry make their way up to the bar and the others head somewhere else.

The second they make it to the bar, the bartender's eyes widen and she stutters out, "What-what can I get you?"

Zayn smiles at her. "Something strong."

"R-right. And, um, you?" she asks Harry, reluctantly pulling her eyes away from Zayn.

"Same, darling," Harry says, leaning his elbows on the bar.

Zayn chances a glance at Liam, but he's leaning on the bar, too, with his back facing the bartender and his eyes watchfully on the crowd, like he expects danger to come out of nowhere if he stops surveying the area for even a second. Zayn wonders what it'd be like to get Liam a night off and get a drink in him. To see what he'd be like completely stripped of that careful, watchful demeanour. To really loosen him up.

Bad choice of words, he thinks as he turns back to the bartender.

Fingers press gently into his hip, and Zayn turns as he's reaching for his drink. "Can we go somewhere a little less occupied?" Liam asks, eyes wide.

Zayn's mouth goes dry. "I— what?" he stutters out, because his mind is jumping to all sorts of conclusions, and that sounds a hell of a lot like a line that he's gotten more than once at a bar from some guy or girl who wanted a fumbled hook-up in the bathroom or something.

Liam's mouth opens and snaps shut, and he seems to get exactly where Zayn's mind went, because his cheeks go red and his lips tilt up just a fraction. "I meant  _all_  of us," he corrects. "Just — somewhere where you're not so in the open. I'd really rather not have you mobbed by a group of drunk people."

Like he could hear them talking or something, Louis comes up behind him and says loudly, "Booths!" and jerks his thumb over his shoulder to point in their direction.

Zayn grabs his drink and, with Liam in front of him and Harry behind him, makes his way over to them. Niall and Josh have already sat themselves at an empty both, Josh half sitting on Niall while drumming his fingers impatiently. "Is Lou getting our drinks?" Niall asks.

Zayn shrugs. "No idea," he says as he climbs into the opposite side of the booth. Harry climbs in right next to him, and Liam looks nervously around before perching on just the edge of the seat beside Harry, facing the crowd once again.

Zayn frowns at him, drink halfway to his lips. He looks on edge, like something's bothering him, but he'd seemed fine during the entire ride here. Zayn wants to ask, he does, but he also thinks that maybe he should just — stop thinking about Liam for five minutes. It feels a lot like his world has recently shifted, no longer revolving around the sun because it's too busy revolving around every little thing Liam does.

Which is just ridiculous and soppy and they're  _not even in a relationship_.

Zayn downs his drink in one sip and grins at Harry. "Let's have some fun."

Some time between his third and fourth drink, Harry pulls him onto the dance floor, and Zayn allows it. Grabs Harry's hips and lets himself go for a moment, not caring if that girl to their left has her phone camera trained on them, or if someone else is pressing insistently against his back and trying to butt in.

They probably look so dumb, he knows. Harry can't dance, can barely walk sometimes without tripping like an awkward, newly born doe. And Zayn has a thing for fist pumping when he's drunk. It's as embarrassing to witness as it sounds, but he's past the point of caring. He's not even that drunk, though. Just — loosened up the right amount. Buzzing, but not drunk. Tipsy, but not drunk. Having fun, but not drunk.

A pretty girl with a pixie cut taps on Harry's shoulder and asks for a dance, and Harry agrees, leaving Zayn behind. Zayn pouts at his back but leans back against whoever it is that's been behind him for the last minute. He looks over his shoulder, meets a pair of blue eyes and a wicked grin, dark hair falling into his face and he definitely made the right choice.

His name is Oliver and the first thing he says to Zayn is, "I know who you are."

Zayn rolls his eyes and keeps dancing, hips swaying because he can, because no one can tell him not to and he's not going to feel guilty about enjoying himself. Even if he knows Liam's somewhere around here, probably watching them closely, maybe considering butting in and pushing this guy's hands away so he can replace them with his own, and—

"Good for you," Zayn says. "But I have no idea who you are."

"Oliver," he supplies, and Zayn mouths it, tests it on his tongue.

"Are you going to whisper in my ear all night?" Zayn asks, equal parts amused and annoyed. He can't decide which. "Or are you going to actually dance with me?"

Oliver laughs, low and dark, the exact opposite of Liam's laugh, really. He spins Zayn around until they're face-to-face, Zayn's hand trapped between their bodies, splayed flat on his chest. "I could think of other ways to spend the night," he says.

Now Zayn's eye roll is less teasingly-hard-to-get and more actually irritated. "Not interested," he says. "Sorry."

Oliver shrugs, as if to say, 'Your loss, mate.' Zayn doesn't acknowledge it. He just stumbles backwards into the crowd and searches for Harry, or maybe Louis. Someone he can dance with that isn't going to  _expect_  things.

He thought Harry was somewhere to his left, but he looks around and can't find him. Or anyone, for that matter. It's just a sea of faces that seem to look too closely at him, who start to press in on all sides. Zayn rubs a hand over his face and shoulders through them, moving on autopilot until he manages to find a familiar place.

Only he  _can't_. The club isn't even all that big, but he feels trapped on the dance floor, unable to get out to where he left the others at the booths, or to the bar. Everywhere he turns, there's nothing but people and flashing lights and his heart starts hammering in his chest like it had on Harry's birthday. That panic starts to settle in, and he claws at his t-shirt, pulling it away from his neck, trying to breathe but he can't.

He notices a group of guys who've all got their faces turned towards him. There's something about them that feels familiar, even if he's never seen them before in his life. It has his blood running cold, especially when one of them starts towards him, a smirk on his face, others following behind.

Zayn whirls and smacks right into a hard, solid body. He tries to shove the arms that wrap around him away, until he's being literally lifted off the ground easily, like he weighs absolutely nothing.

It takes a moment of thrashing and shouting for him to realize that he recognizes the smell of cologne and the sweater under his fingertips. The hands carefully holding him and moving him through the crowd, not releasing him completely until he's out of it, settling him gently on the ground.

"Do I need to give you a lecture about disappearing into the crowd?" Liam asks, arms crossed over his chest. He looks both worried and angry. "Because you seriously can't do that, Zayn. If I can't get to you, it freaks me out. I can't protect you if I can't find you."

"You did, though," Zayn points out. "Find me, I mean."

"Course I did," Liam huffs out. "That's my job."

Zayn tugs a hand through his hair. It's already fallen out of its quiff from sweating and dancing, and he doesn't care at this point. He's had his fair share of horrible drunken pictures in the tabloids at this point, and he's past the point of caring if someone gets a bad shot of him. "Can it be your job to take me home now?" he asks.

It's just — he should have known not to come out tonight. Something's been twisting in his gut since the moment Harry asked him, and he should have stayed at he hotel. Should have ordered more room service, something sugary and sweet and bad for him while he watched one of his favourite movies on his laptop. Or he could have taken a bath, something he hasn't done in a while. Put on one of his playlists, something slow and relaxing and just let himself go.

Liam lifts a hand, almost touches his cheek, but he looks around at the last second and drops it like Zayn's skin was on fire and he couldn't touch him without burning himself. "Yeah," he says. "Let's go tell the others we're leaving. I think Louis' been ready to go for an hour now. Josh and Niall might want to stay. Harry left —"

"What?"

Liam gives him a look. "Went back to the hotel by himself. They were fighting again."

Zayn groans. "Can't they just stop?"

"I think," Liam says, hand brushing against Zayn's as they make their way back to the booths, "that people do a lot of stupid things when they're afraid. And for some people, there's nothing more terrifying than falling completely in love with another person."

Zayn blinks at him, taken back. Where did that even come from?

"They'll work it out," Liam adds, reassuring. "Right now I think they're both convinced that if they admit how they feel, the other will reject them, so they'd rather act like they hate each other than be the one who gets hurt."

"That was pretty insightful, Liam," Zayn says honestly. "Maybe I should get you to write songs for me, too."

Liam laughs. "I've got enough on my plate, thanks, trying to keep you out of trouble."

Zayn scoffs. He's not difficult at all, he thinks. And when he looks over at Liam, he knows that Liam would agree with him, if he said it. He doesn't, though. He grins to himself because he's still just the right amount of bubbly and buzzed, and he lets his hand brush against Liam's more than could be considered accidental.

When they get to the booth, Louis is the only one there. Or — Louis is the only one out of their group there. He's got some long haired brunette on his lap, and he's feeding her the olive from his cocktail. "Louis," Zayn says loudly. "Where's everyone else?"

Louis hooks his chin over the girls shoulder and says, "They left. Josh can't hold his alcohol and Niall was getting pretty drunk, too, so they decided to head back to the hotel."

"I'd like to go back to the hotel," the girl in Louis' lap giggles.

Louis taps her on the nose and says, in a voice like one some people would use on a child, "Wouldn't we all, darling? But my bandmate shares a room with me and he'd probably claw your pretty little face off if I brought you back." Louis frowns. "Actually, that's a brilliant idea. Zayn, Liam, sorry but we have to go."

Liam does that arm crossing thing again, this time standing right in front of the exit to the booth. "Louis," he warns.

Louis blinks up at him, and Zayn has to smother a laugh because he actually looks chastised, which is something he's never managed to accomplish, no matter how many times he tells Louis not to do something. "But Liam—"

"No."

Louis sighs in resignation. "Sorry, babe," he says to the girl, "but it looks like I'm going home alone tonight. You can't thank Muscles here for that."

"Am I muscles?" Liam wonders, bending close so his lips nearly graze Zayn's ear.

Zayn shivers and says, "Pretty sure he's talking about me. I've been working out lately."

Liam laughs and steps back, giving Louis and the girl room to get out of the booth. By the time they leave the club, Zayn's leaning heavily on both Louis and Liam, arms slung over both of their shoulders. Unconsciously, he pulls Liam a little closer to him, but no one else has to know that. It isn't until they get in the car, and he's once again settled between two bodies, this time with Louis on his left, that he realizes how exhausted he feels. It's like he ran a marathon, pushed himself far past his limit. He tilts his head onto Liam's shoulder and closes his eyes.

He doesn't wake up until they get to the hotel. They pull up around back, and Zayn bats open his eyes slowly, a groan slipping from his lips. He stretches his arms above his head, feeling his whole body tense to the point of snapping before it relaxes. He feels like he's ten years old again, after a long road trip that he'd fallen asleep during on the way home, back when his dad would poke him awake and carry him all the way into the house and up the stairs while he did nothing but yawn and hold on tightly.

He barely has enough energy to fall out of the car behind Liam, and he nearly  _literally_  falls out of the car. At the last second Liam's arms wrap around his waist, holding him up, and Zayn wraps his own around Liam's neck. "Is it in your job description to carry me if I can't walk?"

Liam grabs the backs of his thighs and easily lifts Zayn up until his legs wrap around Liam's waist, too. "No," Liam says with a grunt, "I don't think it is."

"Your arms are ridiculous," Zayn comments as Liam carries him to the backdoor. "Like, really ridiculous."

Laughter shakes Liam's whole body and, by extension, Zayn's. "How drunk are you, exactly?"

He's really not, is the thing. Sleepy, yes. But actually drunk enough to say shit like that? No. But Liam doesn't know that, so Zayn giggles and presses his face into Liam's neck and takes advantage of the situation. "Not drunk at all," he mumbles, slurring the words purposefully.

"Liar."

"Not fair," Louis pipes up from behind them. Zayn lifts his head and glares at Louis, thankful that Liam can't see it. "You can't just cockblock me and then have your own little love fest."

"Would you like to carry him, then?" Liam asks sweetly. Louis grumbles something that's lost in Zayn's loud sound of protest. "I was kidding. I'm not putting you down, don't worry."

Zayn smirks at Louis over Liam's shoulder and wonders just how much he can get away with as they get into the elevator. He presses a sloppy kiss to Liam's neck, and Liam's grip nearly slips on him, and he feels himself falling, ass first, until Liam hikes him up higher again. And he laughs, because he can, and this can all be blamed on the alcohol tomorrow if Liam or Louis bring it up. Even if he himself knows that's not true.

When they get to their floor, Louis ruffles his hair and says, "Don't stay up too late, kiddies," before heading down the opposite end of the hall. Liam seems to know exactly where Zayn's room is, because he starts towards it without needing instructions.

"Key," Liam says when they get to the door.

Zayn thinks for a moment, trying to remember where he'd put it. "Back left pocket."

Liam hesitates. "Um, you want me to—?"

"Mhm," he says, lips close to Liam's ear. "Just grab it, Liam." His arms really are ridiculous, because he manages to hold Zayn up with one arm, muscles flexing deliciously as his other hand slides up Zayn's ass, searching for the key. "Are you getting the key or groping me?" Zayn teases.

Liam makes a surprised sound. "I— sorry, I was—"

"'s okay," Zayn assures him. He lets his eyes fall closed as he feels Liam pull the key out of his tight pocket. "I like it."

Liam nearly drops him again, and it's just — it's just too damn funny not to laugh again. "It's not that funny," Liam says, but he sounds like he wants to laugh, too. He gets the key card in the door. "You're making fun of me, aren't you?"

"No," Zayn promises as Liam pushes open the door to the room. He peppers kisses all along Liam's neck, soft, whispering kisses that have goosebumps breaking out on Liam's skin. "I would never."

Liam snorts and kicks the door closed behind himself. "I'm gonna put you on the bed, okay?"

"You should at least buy me dinner first."

"You're quite the smooth talker when you're drunk, did you know that?" Liam jokes. "But seriously, I'm putting you on the bed. You're going to have to let go."

Liam leans over the queen sized bed in the middle of the room, hands braced on it, Zayn kind of just hanging in the space between the mattress and Liam's body, refusing to let go just yet. But then he sighs and does, releasing his vice-like grip on Liam's waist and neck. He tumbles onto the mattress and blinks up at Liam, who stays there for a beat too long, just looking down at him with an indistinguishable expression on his face.

Finally he pulls back and straightens his shirt. "Okay. So, um. You okay, then? Or do you need me to carry you to the bathroom, or something?" he asks, a feeble attempt at teasing, giving the flush in his cheeks that Zayn guesses has nothing to do with the exertion it took to carry him all that way.

Zayn busies himself with toeing off his shoes. "Nah, I'm good," he says, knowing the game is over. "Thanks."

"No problem," Liam says easily. He rocks back and forth on the heels of his shoes. "I should go. See you tomorrow."

Zayn nods and Liam heads for the door. At the last second, Zayn throws his arm over his eyes and calls, before he can think of any reason not to, "Or you could stay."

He has his eyes squeezed shut on top of having them covered by his arm, and the room is so damn quiet after that. He counts to ten in his head, then twenty, and he nearly gets all the way to thirty before Liam says, "Okay."

Zayn lifts his arm, eyebrows drawing together when he meets Liam's eyes. "Really?"

Liam sighs at him. "I shouldn't," he says while kicking off his own shoes. "I really shouldn't. You're a bad influence on me, Zayn Malik."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Liam says easily. "I never said it was a bad thing."

Zayn's pretty sure Liam's a bad influence on him, too, because he doesn't do stupid shit this often. But he can't seem to help himself, where Liam is concerned. No matter how many times he tells himself it's a bad idea. No matter how many cons there are compared to the pros of this whole situation. He could list off a hundred reasons why he shouldn't kiss Liam, but that isn't going to stop him from wanting to anyways.

Silently, he climbs off the bed, pulls back the covers.

"I don't have any pyjamas," Liam says abruptly.

Zayn meets his eyes as he reaches for the hem of his own shirt. He pulls it up over his chest, and when it's over his head he grins at the fact that Liam's still staring at him, only now his lips are parted. "Neither do I," he says as he unbuttons his jeans.

When he's down to just his boxers, he crawls back into bed, under the covers. As soon as he pulls them up to his chest, he knows that he's not going to be able to stay up much longer. He's too tired, and he just wants to sleep. Only he wants to do that with Liam beside him.

The light in the room goes off, and a moment later the bed dips. Zayn rolls over, facing the opposite side as Liam settles in behind him. He needs a fan or something, some kind of background noise, because the only thing he can hear is Liam's uneven breathing mixing with his own.

"Just relax," he says through a yawn, tucking his hand under his pillow. "I can practically hear your mind working."

"I'm sorry," Liam whispers. "It's just… what's the protocol here? You've got to draw the line, Zayn, so I know if I'm about to cross it or not. I can never tell if I'm about to overstep my boundaries with you. If I'm accidentally going to push to far and screw this up."

Zayn has no idea where the line is, with them, but he's certain they've both crossed it already. He reaches behind himself, searching, and it takes a moment but eventually he finds Liam's hand. He wraps his fingers around it and tugs, trying to get Liam closer.

"Just sleep with me," he says quietly.

Hesitantly, Liam scoots over in the bed. He doesn't press himself against Zayn's back, the way Zayn wishes he would, but he does put a hand over Zayn's waist, and Zayn puts his own on top of it. "Night, Zayn."

"G'night."

—

"We know you're a very private person," the interviewer says, and Zayn bites his tongue. He's done enough interviews to know that this is only going to lead to personal questions, and he wants to avoid that, if he can. "But, come on, your fans would love to know what you're like when you're in a relationship."

That— isn't too bad of a question, surprisingly. He was expecting something closer to 'boxers, or briefs?' but this he can handle. He shifts a bit in his seat, still smiling politely and he'll continue to do so, even when his jaw starts to ache. "It depends," he says. "If it's casual, I like it to be private, less messy, you know?" The interviewer nods. "But when I'm really — when I care about people, I have a hard time hiding it. I think that if I was really in over my head, totally in love with someone, I'd want to tell everyone. So I guess I'd be the type of boyfriend who would spoil you. Try to give you the world and show you off. And I love to cuddle."

"Do you hear that ladies?" the interviewer coos. "He likes to cuddle."

Zayn shrugs, grin widening. "What can I say? Cuddling's nice."

"Now," the interviewer leans forward, "we know you're single at the moment, but there is one very special woman in your life, isn't there?"

Zayn frowns. "Um, I don't—"

"And we happen to have her on video call with us," the interviewer continues. Zayn sucks in a breath. He probably looks fucking terrified right now, but only because he can't figure out what this chick's talking about. What special woman? What—

"Hey, sweetie."

Zayn's head whips around. There's a large screen just behind him, has been the whole time he's been here, only it had been blank before. Now, he sees a familiar face, smiling and huge, magnified, and — "Mum?"

Zayn has this — rule, if you will. He doesn't call his mum often. It's just so hard on them both, all the time. There hasn't been a single phone conversation between them in four years that didn't involve tears from one of them at some point. And they always leave him feeling hollow and empty. So he only calls occasionally, and then whenever he can he flies out there and spends a week or two at home because it's just — easier to talk to her when he knows there isn't miles between them. When he can wrap his arms around her and know that one of his sisters is just around the corner, or his dad is in the living room.

The last time he'd spoken to her had been just before he left for the tour. He called her, told her what was going on, promised to come see her as soon as he could. And they'd both cried, because that's what they did, and afterwards Zayn had spent the entire day curled up in his bed, missing home and childhood so much it  _ached_.

And now he's got to do this on live television. No fucking warning. He's pissed, but more than that, he feels tears prickling his eyes already and they haven't said ten words.

"I miss you," his mum says, and the crowd aws and coos.

"I miss you, too," Zayn says thickly. He can see the kitchen behind her, and he bets it smells like spices and cookies, the way it does in his memories. "Lots."

A stern look comes over her face. "Have you been eating?"

Zayn wrinkles his nose. "Yes, mum."

The crowd and interviewer laugh, but his mother says, "You look thin. You better be taking care of yourself, young man, or you're grounded."

"Yes, ma'am," Zayn says. "I'll remember that."

When the interview is over, Zayn stumbles off stage in a daze. He gets all the way to Liam, just off stage, before it feels like too much. Before he feels himself crumbling. He grabs Liam's arm so hard he can see the skin underneath his fingertips turning white. "Get me out of here," he begs. "Now, Liam, please. Just — get me out of here."

"Hey," Liam says, hand coming up to cup the back of Zayn's head, "what's wrong? Zayn—"

"Get me  _out of here_ ," Zayn hisses. He actually stomps his foot, too, and he's literally seconds away from throwing a hissy fit or bursting into tears.

Several people who work on the show look over at him, and Zayn can't care. He'd rather leave here with them thinking he's a diva than have everyone watch him cry. He  _hates_  crying in front of other people.

"Okay," Liam says with a curt nod. "Okay, getting you out of here. Right now."

He wraps an arm around Zayn's shoulder, and Zayn puts one around his waist, holding him close because he has to. Liam digs into his pocket and pulls out his cellphone while he moves Zayn through the building, and Zayn barely registers what he says on the phone before ending the call.

When they're in the hallway, no one around for a moment, Liam pulls him in. He feels soft lips against his temple just before Liam says, "Ten minutes, okay? Just gotta get out the door, into the car, and then back to the hotel. Ten minutes."

Zayn nods mutely, lips a thin line. He releases Liam's hip but Liam keeps his arm tight around Zayn as they head out the door, like he's refusing to let go, even if he's aware that they probably should. People are outside, and there's camera flashes, and Zayn buries his face in Liam's chest until they get to the car. He doesn't care, either.

Once they pull away from the building, Liam shrugs out of his seatbelt and scoots over so he's in the middle seat. He cards a hand gently through Zayn's hair, and Zayn closes his eyes and makes a content sound, breathing easier for the first time since his mum showed up on screen.

Like he can read Zayn's thoughts, Liam quietly asks, "Is this about your mum?"

Zayn sniffles and hates himself for it. "Did you watch the interview?"

"Most of it, yeah," Liam admits. "She seems great."

"She is," Zayn agrees. "She—  _fuck_ , I had no idea they were doing that. I just — I miss her. I miss her so much."

Liam brushes the hair off his forehead, touches feather-light and gentle, like he's afraid he's going to scare Zayn off. "Tell me about her."

Zayn snorts, thinking that Liam can't be serious. But when he looks over, Liam's eyes are wide and expectant, and he  _is_. "Um." He's never had to really describe his mother to someone before. The other have all met her (her and Louis are actually best friends, which is just weird and Zayn doesn't think about it all that much), and no one else ever asks. He tries to think of something important, anything, and he smiles. "She can't bake for shit. You know those premade cookies? She burns even those, so my dad always makes them. And she makes the  _best_  spaghetti in the entire world and I've always been her favourite. And she can't sing. She's  _horrible_  at it but she does it all the time anyways, and she listens to top forty shit instead of normal old people music, so it's really embarrassing when I'm in the car with her because she'll crank, like, Beyoncé and just go to town on it."

Liam laughs. "So where'd you get the talent, then?"

"Dunno," Zayn admits. "My whole family's tone deaf, really. But she did teach me how to draw."

"Draw?" Liam makes a face at him. "You can't draw, too. That's not fair."

"Why not?" Zayn demands.

"Because," Liam says, yanking a strand of Zayn's hair just a tad too hard, "you've already got the most amazing voice I've ever heard. You write these beautiful, touching songs. And you're possibly the most attractive person on the planet. That's it. You're not allowed to get anything else. 's not fair to the rest of us."

Zayn is a vain person, apparently, because all that sticks out to him is, "Most attractive person on the planet?"

Liam's fingers move out of his hair and down his jaw. "Don't act like you don't know it," he says softly. "You're beautiful. Here." His fingertips brush over Zayn's bottom lip before moving down to his chest. "And in here. And you know it." He drops his hand finally, letting it fall into his own lap. "Now go on, tell me more. What about your sisters?"

And Zayn does, the whole way back to the hotel until the car comes to a final stop. He feels a million times better, with Liam's gentle prompting every time he thinks he's run out of things to say. With their hands finding each other once again, because that's become a thing, apparently. With Liam just  _there_ , like Zayn is starting to realize he needs him to be at all times.

"I'd love to meet them one day," Liam says offhandedly, with the kind of unabashed, easy sincerity that he's starting to realize only Liam is really capable of, as he undoes his seatbelt.

Zayn freezes, his own hands pausing in their movements. Liam continues to get out of the car, completely unaware. And that's just — that's it. That's the moment, for Zayn. He can look back on whatever happens from this point on one day, and he'll be able to say that this was the exact moment when he decided on Liam Payne.

They get all the way to the elevator, Liam reaching to press the buttons for both of their floors, when Zayn cracks and hits the one for the top floor, just like he had done the last time he and Liam were alone in an elevator.

"Need another moment?" Liam asks, reaching for his hand, like it's instinctual at this point.

Zayn pushes his hand away in favour of grabbing Liam's hips and crowding him up against the wall of the elevator. "Several, actually," he says. Liam looks a little shocked, eyes wide, but he puts his arms around Zayn's neck anyways. "Hundreds," Zayn corrects, leaning in closer. "Thousands." His lips nearly brush Liam's. "Millions, maybe."

"If you're going to kiss me just do it, you dork," Liam teases.

Zayn nearly does, gets so close, but at the last second he pulls back and says, "Not sure if I'm going to be able to stop if I do."

"You're gonna have to," Liam says regretfully. "We have to be packed and on the bus in about half an hour."

Zayn groans and tucks his head into the crook of Liam's neck. "I forgot."

Once again, Liam's fingers run through his hair. It should irritate him, since it probably makes it look horribly messy, but it just feels nice, Liam's nails occasionally dragging over his scalp. "Are you still going to want to kiss me in half an hour?" he asks.

Zayn snorts because, yeah, Liam. He's pretty sure he's going to spend the indefinite future wanting to kiss Liam. "Yeah, most likely."

"Okay." Liam kisses his forehead. "Then meet me in the bus in half an hour." He steps around Zayn and presses the button for his own floor. "Deal?"

—

"What— happened to— me not being your—  _oh_ — type?" Liam pants, words coming out choked.

Zayn groans and bites at his neck, pushing him harder up against — the table, is it? He can't tell. The tour bus is really not made for this kind of thing, and he's sure Liam's back is aching. "Lied," Zayn says simply, pulling back to watch his teeth marks appear and disappear on Liam's skin. "Have you looked at yourself? You're everyone's type."

"I'm pretty sure that's you," Liam argues, hands pulling up the back of Zayn's shirt. His nails sting as they scratch up Zayn's back, and it's fucking lovely, really. "Kiss me again, Zayn. Come on. Please."

So he does, lips skating over Liam's jaw, first, then his cheek, finally landing on his mouth. Liam's lips are already parted, and he bites at the bottom one. It's full and pink and slick from earlier kisses, and he can't help it. He doesn't regret the decision when Liam lets out a whine, either, and he does it again just because he can.

The only dilemma he's currently having is deciding whether he'd rather push Liam down against the nearest surface and see how long it takes until he's writhing and whining, or have Liam mandhandle him up against a wall and show him what he's really made of. It's a tough decision. So instead of making it, he kisses Liam again until Liam's tugging at his hair and pushing his tongue into Zayn's mouth.

Zayn stumbles backwards and fists a hand in Liam's shirt, pulling him along, and now it's  _his_  back that hits something (armrest of the couch, he thinks, but he's not entirely certain) and Liam crowds him up against it, fitting a leg between both of his own. Zayn grinds against him on instinct, fully hard already and not embarrassed about it at all, mostly because Liam's lips slip from his own as he lets out a low moan.

"Is this really happening?" Liam asks, words coming out between the kisses he's pressing to Zayn's neck.

Zayn tilts his head, giving him more room. "Pretty sure it is, yeah."

"Sorry," Liam says quickly, hands sliding up and down Zayn's sides, like he can't quite control them. Zayn knows that feeling, too, since it's vibrating through his body and all he can think is  _LiamLiamLiam_  and all he can  _feel_  is Liam and this insistent need to get more. "I'm just trying to wrap my head around how this is really happening."

Liam's words fade away as he bites at Zayn's neck. His teeth sink in, just a bit, and Zayn keens because  _ouch_  but also  _yes,_ because that feels so fucking good that he almost forgets. "No marks," Zayn groans, tugging at Liam's hair. "No marks where people can see them."

"Sorry, sorry," Liam mumbles again, kissing the spot as if to make up for it. He pushes at the collar of Zayn's shirt, and there's this quiet tearing sound, like he ripped the seams, but Zayn doesn't even care because Liam's stretching the material down over his shoulder and sucking at the skin there instead. "Here okay?"

He's trying to listen to Liam's words, he really is, but getting Liam out of his shirt seems a lot more important, in this moment, than trying to have a conversation. "Yeah, sure," Zayn says offhandedly, tugging at the bottom of the shirt. "Can you just. Off now, yeah?"

Liam takes a step back and pulls his shirt over his head. Zayn watches it fall to the ground, and then he slowly moves his gaze up Liam's legs and then—  _fuck_. He's just —  _fuck_.

"What?" Liam asks, raising a single eyebrows.

He knows Liam's muscular. He's exposed to those ridiculous fucking arms on a daily basis. But he wasn't prepared for how wide Liam's chest is, or the defined stomach muscles, or the dark, course hair that covers his chest and his stomach, or his thick shoulders and collarbones that Zayn wants to mark with his lips and his teeth, and— Basically Liam is just really, really fucking hot, to the point where it's almost offensive.

"You know what," Zayn snaps. "Don't act like you don't."

Liam grins and steps towards him. "I like to stay in shape," he admits, hands reaching for Zayn again. The bus hits something on the road, though, and he remembers that they're  _moving_ , just as Liam crashes into him. Liam steadies them and laughs, wild and without a care in the world against Zayn's neck. "I feel like this is a really dangerous place to try and…."

He trails off, and now Zayn's the one smirking. "Try and what?"

Liam flushes. "I'm not sure, actually," he admits. That burning frenzy seems to slow and simmer as he reaches up and cups Zayn's cheek. "What are we doing? What's the goal here? Are we just …? Or are we…?"

Zayn's only goal was to get Liam naked. But, at the same time, "Whatever you want, babe." He doesn't want to push Liam into something he's not ready for, and he doesn't want to be the one crossing the line, either.

Liam drops his gaze to the floor between them as his hand slides under Zayn's shirt, tracing his spine. "We've only got about nine hours before the next stop," he says with a chuckle. "Don't think that's enough time for everything I want to do with you."

Maybe he does get what Liam was saying about having issues wrapping his head around this, because Zayn really can't fathom how he's this lucky. How he gets to have an amazing life and an amazing family and amazing friends, and he gets someone like Liam in his life too, on top of all that. It's too good to be true, it is, and he'd pinch himself to prove that it's real if he could stop moving his hands up and down Liam's muscular back, but he can't so he doesn't.

"Maybe we should start by getting to the bed, though," Liam suggests.

Zayn nods because, yeah, that's probably a good idea. But it's awkward, moving through the bus together with this heavy weight of what's about to happen settling over top of them. Or it is until Liam makes a frustrated sound and pushes him down onto the couch, crawling on top of him instantly.

"Or the couch," Zayn says with a laugh.

"Bed's too far," Liam explains. He pulls at Zayn's shirt. "Yours too, come on."

Zayn obliges, lifting his arms, and his shirt disappears with a flick of Liam's wrist. He closes his eyes and tilts his head up, waiting for Liam's lips to find his again, but they don't. He blinks his eyes back open, and Liam's just… staring down at him blankly, lip caught between his teeth.

"What are you thinking?" Zayn wonders, trying not to be self-conscious about the way Liam's looking at him. But he's seen this look on Liam's face a hundred times, and he still can't work out of it's a good thing or a bad one.

Liam shakes his head. "Nothing, sorry." And he leans in for another kiss, but Zayn pushes him back a bit.

"Tell me."

Liam groans. "I just don't get why you'd even — you're just— and I—"

"Those weren't even full sentences," Zayn teases.

Liam hides his face in the crook of Zayn's neck, like he's embarrassed. "Sometimes I look at you and I just don't understand how one person manages to be so freaking perfect, and right now I'm just trying to figure out what the hell you're doing with someone like me, because it doesn't make any sense."

Zayn's chest feels tight all of a sudden, like Liam's sitting on it instead of straddling his hips. And while Liam might be the bigger of the two, Zayn isn't exactly lacking in the muscles department, and it doesn't take him much effort to lift them both up and drop Liam onto his back on the sofa. He lets out a surprised sound when he hits it, and Zayn would laugh if he weren't too busy kissing down Liam's chest.

"Don't say things like that," he mutters against Liam's stomach.

"Won't be able to— say anything if you— keep—  _that_." The last word comes out as more of a moan than anything, and later they'll revisit this conversation, but right now he sort of just wants to get Liam to make that sound again.

"This?" he asks sweetly, nipping at the skin just above the waistband of Liam's boxers, which are peaking up over his jeans.

"Oh, God," Liam says tightly. "You're evil, d'you know that?"

Teasing Liam Payne, Zayn learns, is possibly the greatest thing in the entire world. Maybe even greater than standing on stage, listening to thousands scream his name. Because Liam makes these aborted, lost sounds every time Zayn presses his lips to a new patch of skin (which is often, since he may be a bit fixated on Liam's abs but, really, who could blame him?), or scratches his nails down Liam's still-clothed thighs. He keeps it up, looking up at Liam occasionally with wide, innocent eyes, like he has absolutely no idea what he's doing. And, without fail, Liam will groan at him each time and lift his hips up, begging with his body because he can't seem to make himself do it with his words.

There's no doubt in his mind that Liam could easily manoeuvre them, flip them over without even breaking a sweat and take complete control, show Zayn just how fun it is to be the one on the receiving end of the teasing. But he doesn't, and that does something to Zayn. The knowledge that Liam could easily dominate him but has instead given him complete control to do whatever he pleases.

It had crossed his mind, at some point, to take this slow. To take Liam on a proper date or something before they jump into bed together. To make a point, let Liam know that he wants more than just a fumbled hook-up because he  _does_. A lot more. So much more. But he's going to have to do that later because he's achingly hard, and he can tell that Liam's straining against his jeans, too, and he can't  _not_  take this farther right now.

Zayn traces the zipper of Liam's jeans slowly, and Liam tries to push up against him while stuttering out, "Are you going to make me ask for it?" sounding both frustrated and needy.

He wasn't, actually, but now that Liam's suggested it… He shrugs and boldly mouths at the fabric of Liam's jeans, hoping that Liam can see the faint smirk on his lips.

"Okay, okay," Liam says breathlessly. "Please. Just — please."

Next time he vows to see how hard he can push Liam until he really breaks, but for now he gives in, popping open the button on Liam's jeans easily. He slides down the zipper and Liam lifts his hips to help get them off, and then he pushes off his own boxers with no help from Zayn, a slight glare on his face like he could tell exactly what Zayn was thinking, and he knew it'd be another round of teasing before those came off too.

Zayn rubs his hands up and down Liam's thighs and, like Liam had said that night at the charity event, takes a moment to process. It's overwhelming, the fact that less than twenty-four hours ago he was still telling himself that it'd be too stupid and reckless to do this, and now he's got Liam completely fucking naked on the couch of his tour bus, propped up on his elbows with his bottom lip caught between his teeth and wide, pleading eyes.

"You don't have to," Liam blurts, and Zayn glares at up at him for it. Liam holds himself up on one arm and presses a thumb to Zayn's bottom lip. He does that a lot, touch Zayn's face. Trailing his fingertips over it like he's learning how every part of it feels. "Seriously. If you've changed your mind, it's okay. Don't feel like you have to."

Zayn swats his hand away. "I was admiring, not having doubts," he states.

Liam flushes, right down to his chest. "Oh."

"Unless you'd like me to stop…." He lets the words hang between them while squeezing Liam's thighs, thumbs sliding up higher, close to where Liam's hard and curving towards his stomach but never actually touching him there.

It's almost odd, how comfortable Liam seems to be while completely naked in his presence, the lights of the tour bus illuminating his entire body. But he doesn't seem to mind anything but the fact that Zayn is still teasing him. "Don't," Liam says quickly. "Stop, I mean. Don't stop. Just. Quit playing with me and just — please."

Liam's hand slips out from under himself the second Zayn wraps a hand around him, and he falls flat against the couch, head craned to meet Zayn's eyes. And Zayn can't help it, the way he makes a show of licking his lips until he knows they're slick and shiny. The way he keeps his eyes trained on Liam's as he lowers his head and licks a stripe from where his fingers curl around the base all the way to the head. Liam's legs jerk on either side of him, bending at the knee and spreading a little wider, and Zayn knows he has him. His whole stance screams  _vulnerable_ , like he's handing himself over to be ruined, and Zayn loves it. Can't believe they both seriously managed to wait this long to do this.

"God, you're beautiful," Liam says quietly, reaching down to card a hand through Zayn's hair as Zayn wraps his lips around the tip of him. He wonders if Liam's just saying that because Zayn's got his dick in his mouth, or if he means it. But Liam's looking down at him like a man who just won the lottery and can't believe his luck. "Perfect."

Zayn grunts at him and lowers his lips until they hit his fingers. Liam's stomach muscles tighten as he sucks in a harsh breath, but he doesn't try to push up farther into Zayn's mouth, the way Zayn knows he himself is prone to doing. He doesn't pull to hard at Zayn's hair, either, or try to push him farther down. Zayn rewards him by speeding up, tightening his fist and bringing it up to meet his mouth whenever he can.

Liam's head falls back against the couch eventually, like he can't hold it up any longer, and he's letting out a litany of, " _Zayn_ , you're just — you—  _fuck,_  I can't— I—" barely coherent as Zayn works him over. At one point Zayn pulls off him only long enough to say "I have a show tomorrow or I'd let you fuck my mouth," and Liam just whimpers at him, like he can't even form a proper response to that.

Liam's fingers finally tug at his hair, just before he says, rushed and a bit frantic, "Close, Zayn, you have to—"

Zayn tightens his grip on Liam's cock, tongue working at the head as his hand works over the rest of his length, and Liam stares down at him, lips open in a silent 'o', grip going slack in Zayn's hair. His entire body tenses, and his legs squeeze closed on either side of Zayn's body, almost trapping him there as Liam comes down his throat. He swallows as best as he can before pulling off and taking a shuddering breath, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

Liam just — collapses against the sofa completely. Zayn crawls into the spot between his body and the back of the sofa, hand flat on his chest, head resting on his arm. He closes his eyes and listens to Liam's quiet, shallow breathing, and he's content. He's still fucking hard, obviously, but Liam looks too wrecked to do anything, and Zayn's honestly okay if he doesn't get anything because watching Liam unravel like that was worth it.

"I think I'm broken," Liam groans eventually, when his heartbeat is no longer racing against Zayn's palm. "Knew you'd break me eventually, just didn't think it'd be like that." He rubs Zayn's neck and presses his lips to the top of Zayn's head. "Can I return the favour?"

Zayn blinks up at him. "You don't have to."

"Wouldn't offer if I thought I did," Liam says seriously. His hand trails down Zayn's back. "Want to." He squeezes Zayn's ass, his voice lowering as he does. "Might be one of the only things I think about, tasting you, watching you lose yourself, all because of my mouth."

Zayn nearly chokes on thin air. "Where did that even come from?"

Liam laughs at him. "'I'd let you fuck my mouth if I didn't have a show tomorrow'," he mocks. "Probably the same place as that."

"Okay, fair enough," Zayn chuckles. "But do you… um…." His mind short circuit's the second Liam cups him through his jeans. Too much material, too light, but it doesn't even matter to his dick, apparently, because it aches at the touch, and he feels so turned on that it's like he'll burst at any second. "Fuck."

"Stand up," Liam urges, swinging his own legs over the side of the couch. He doesn't stop there, though, and he's sliding all the way off it until he's kneeling on the floor, completely naked, like every fucking wet dream Zayn's ever had.

"Stand up?" Zayn repeats. "Why?" But he's already getting up, even before he gets an answer.

Liam reaches for the button on Zayn's jeans, and he undoes it easily. "Because," he says casually, tugging down the zipper, "unlike you, I don't have a show tomorrow."

The full meaning of that isn't clear to Zayn right away, but when it hits him he staggers forward a bit, hand braced on Liam's shoulder to keep himself upright. That part in his mind wonders once again if this is going too fast, if they're too comfortable with each other too easily, but he can't really think much with Liam on his knees, tugging Zayn's pants down.

Where Zayn was all teasing, Liam is straight to the point, an almost determined look on his face as he wraps his lips around Zayn's cock. Zayn doesn't  _mean_  to grab so hard at his hair, but Liam's mouth slides down him, warm and wet and wonderful, and he has to consciously tell himself to let up on the strands in his hand. But Liam moans around him and grabs Zayn's hips with both of his hands, and Zayn's pretty sure that he  _likes_  the hair pulling.

Liam pulls his hips forward a bit, looking up at Zayn with a pointed look in his eyes. He didn't think Liam was serious, but apparently he is. And that's almost enough to have him pushing roughly into Liam's mouth, but instead he moans and slowly, carefully eases himself farther in. Liam just  _takes it_ , even when he pushes in farther later on, hitting his throat and then going even farther. Liam Payne, the walking contraction with the sweet personality, ridiculous muscles, and a mouth like sin.

He doesn't last long. Not as long as Liam had, but he's pretty sure that it's a miracle he lasted as long as he had, given the way Liam looked like that, on his knees with those wide brown eyes blinking up at Zayn. Afterwards, Zayn gets what he meant. He feels shattered, wrecked, completely ruined. The only thing keeping him on his shaking legs is his hand on Liam's shoulder.

Liam seems to get that, at least, and he puts an arm around Zayn's waist as he stands back up, and then he's lifting Zayn easily off the ground, carrying him through the bus until they finally make it to the backroom.

"You okay?" Liam asks after laying him down on the bed, looking concerned, like he might have actually broken Zayn beyond repair. Which is entirely possibly.

"You're still naked," Zayn says, because, in his post-orgasm bliss, this is the only important thought that comes to mind.

"So are you," Liam points out, which — yeah, good point. Now that he's said it, Zayn's a bit self-conscious. He bends his legs a little and pulls at the blankets to cover himself. "I'll go get your clothes."

Zayn watches him go, eying Liam's ass the whole time, and maybe his thighs, too, because they're muscular and distracting. When he comes back, he's got his own boxers on and nothing else. He tosses Zayn his clothes and actually turns around to give Zayn a moment to get dressed. Unlike Liam, he pulls on his shirt, too, but he tosses his jeans to the ground afterwards, forgoing them for the time being.

"You can turn around," he says a moment later.

Liam does with a sheepish smile on his face. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans in the doorway, eyes on the ground. "Um." He makes an embarrassed face. "That was probably a really bad idea, wasn't it?"

"Completely," Zayn deadpans.

Liam looks up, wounded. "Oh. Right." He winces. "It was, yeah. It — completely stupid."

"Extremely stupid," Zayn agrees.

"I'm sorry," Liam offers. "I'll just — I'll go sleep on the couch and if you want me to move back to the other bus tomorrow, I will."

Zayn groans and, before he can think of many, many good reasons not to, he points to the cupboard just beside where Liam is standing. "Can you go in there for me?" he asks. "On the second shelf, there's a box."

Liam looks more than a little lost. "What?"

"Just — pass me the shoebox in there, Liam," Zayn says. He tugs a hand through his hair and breathes deeply. "Please."

Liam still looks confused but he obeys, pulling open the cupboard door and carefully taking out the box. He places it on the bed in front of Zayn and steps back, arms going around his stomach, like he's regretting not putting his shirt back on now.

"Sit," Zayn orders, waving at the spot on the bed beside himself. He pulls off the lid of he box and puts it beside himself before grabbing the two nearest notebooks. He tosses the newest one aside, going for the other one, the one that he'd been working on when he first met Liam. "I want to show you something."

There are only two people in the entire world who Zayn has ever opened this box in front of: Harry, and his mum. So doing it right now, in front of Liam, has him freaking out a little, hands shaking with nerves as Liam settles himself stiffly on the edge of the bed. Zayn tries to ignore him for a moment as he flips through the notebook.

He keeps everything dated, that way he'll be able to remember exactly when he wrote something. He goes back to almost the very beginning of the notebook, back before he'd even met Liam. The entire page is crossed out, words that just didn't work, that sounded forced and chunky and uninspired, that he'd scratched out furiously while hating himself for being unable to do this one thing that he's supposed to be good at.

"I couldn't write anything," he explains, pushing the book towards Liam. "See?" He starts flipping the pages, almost every single one looking like the others, a constant stream of scratched out, unusable words. "And then I could."

Liam's hesitantly reaching for the notebook, and Zayn hesitantly hands it over to him. Not many people ever get to see his unfinished work, and it has him squirming, Liam's eyes drifting over the page. "Why are you showing me this?" Liam asks, like he knows just how big of a deal this is.

Zayn pulls the book back and points at the top. "That was the day when we went for that walk, remember? And it rained and—"

"I remember," Liam says.

"Right. And I went home that night, and it was still raining, and I just — wrote. And since then it's just come so easy, and I think it's… I think it has to do with you." Zayn frowns down at the notebook. It's so obvious, now that he's said it out loud, but he hadn't really pieced the whole thing together before this point. But it is, isn't it? It's all Liam. Maybe every word wasn't written with him in mind, maybe every single line isn't about him, but he's the one who pushed through Zayn's writers block. He's the reason Zayn feels inspired again.

"I don't get it," Liam admits. "I'm sorry, I'm lost. And I should probably go. Let you sleep."

Zayn shakes his head and grabs Liam's hand. He firmly locks their fingers together and squeezes. "What I was trying to prove to you is that — yeah, what happened was really stupid. And this?" He waves a hand between the two of them. "Is equally stupid. And  _fuck_ you'd be risking your job, not to mention the fact that it'd be really uncomfortable for everyone if it didn't work out, but — I don't regret it. At all. And I'd like for what happened today to happen again. And again. Like, all the time, if you'd like it to. And what happened wasn't just some spur of the moment thing. I've been wanting to do that for a long time, but recently the reasons why I shouldn't stopped outweighing the reasons why I should, so I went for it."

There's that closed off, blank look on Liam's face again. He drops his gaze to their twined hands and takes a long, unsteady breath, and Zayn realizes that he may have just made a huge mistake. He'd just assumed that Liam would want more, that what he just said was something Liam would want to hear, but what if that's not true? What if Liam  _wanted_  just a one time thing? What if Zayn is the only one here who wants more than that?

Suddenly he gets how Louis and Harry have been acting. Sees how much easier it would have been to let he and Liam leave on bad terms than try to talk about feelings, or whatever.

"I'd be okay with it happening again," Liam eventually says. "Extremely okay with it."

"Really?" He hates how eager that comes out, but he can't help it.

Liam laughs and tackles him back onto the bed, careful to not crush the box between them. "What did you think I was going to say?" Liam demands. "No, sorry Zayn Malik, international popstar who I've sort of had a crush on since I was eighteen and his video for Tonight's For Us came out, I don't think I'd like to hook-up with you again. My sincerest apologies."

Zayn laughs and spreads his legs a little wider, giving Liam more room to fit between them. "Wait," he says slowly, cocking his head to the said. "You've had a crush on me since you were eighteen?"

Liam shakes his head sternly. "I never said that."

"Really, though?" he asks, because that's sort of adorable.

Liam groans and rolls off him. "Maybe. You were quite fit in that video, if I remember. And I sort of bought the entire album and listened to it on a loop for about three months. My neighbours probably hated me. And you."

Zayn sits up, legs crossed, and traces Liam's stomach muscles. "Is that why you took the job?" he wonders. "Because you liked me and you thought you could get in my pants if you could just get closer to me?"

Liam looks up sharply, eyes wide. Zayn laughs to let him know he's joking, and Liam shoves at him playfully. "Shut up. And I didn't even know it was you until I'd already agreed to go to the interview. The agency is pretty discreet with certain clients, and they only told me that someone of extreme importance was in need of a round-the-clock bodyguard who could be available on a moments notice. And I needed the money, so I said I'd take the job, and it wasn't until I got to your building and your doorman said, 'Mr. Malik is on the seventh floor, sir,' that I realized who you were. And I kind of had a panic attack in the elevator before hand."

Zayn snorts a laugh until Liam glares at him. "Sorry. But you were really that nervous?" Because he can't imagine that, not with how calm and together Liam had been at the interview, even in the face of Louis Tomlinson who can be more than a little terrifying the first time you meet him.

"You're a pretty intimidating person," Liam admits. "And you seemed really, really pissed off that day, too."

Now it's Zayn's turn to look embarrassed. He picks at a non-existent loose thread in his shirt. "You probably thought I was a prick, right?"

"A little," Liam admits. "Until I got to know you."

Zayn chews at the inside of his lip. "Now what do you think of me?" he hesitates to ask.

Liam props himself up on his elbows. "I'll tell you another time," he promises. "Can I ask you a question now?"

Zayn shrugs and starts putting away his notebooks. He carefully places the lid back on the box and puts it away, waiting for Liam to get it out.

Liam looks like he's bracing himself. "I've had exactly three relationships in my entire life," he states. "One of those was when I was twelve, so it doesn't really count. But the other two were pretty serious." He gives Zayn that wide-eyed look again. "So I guess I just want to know what you want from this? Should I be prepared for you to see other people, or did you want something more… real? With us, I mean."

He's done too many interviews in his life to just blurt out the first answer that comes to mind. And while he does want something more real with Liam, wants something serious. Wants to take him back home and introduce him to his family just like Liam said he'd like. But he can't just say that because they can't just  _have that_. "It won't be what you want," Zayn says lowly. He stands just at the end of the bed, and Liam levels him with a steady look. "I can't just hold your hand in front of anyone, and you can't just kiss me whenever you want. We're not going to be able to go on dates whenever we want. We'd have to hide it, Liam, you get that, right? If you want to keep your job, we'd have to pretend like it wasn't happening."

"I figured as much," Liam says. "I know what I'd be getting into."

"No, you don't," Zayn insists. He crawls onto the bed and straddles Liam's hips, hands bracing on Liam's shoulders. "You might think you do, but you don't. You'd have to act like this — every time we're together, you're going to have to act like it never happened out in the real world. And you're going to have to sit there and listen to me do countless interviews where I say there's  _nothing_  between us. And eventually you're going to start wondering if maybe it really  _is_  pretend. If maybe I'm just screwing you on the side and hooking up with other people in private, too, and it'll ruin it. It always does."

"You sound like you're talking from experience," Liam says quietly.

Zayn sighs and leans back, but he's still sitting on top of Liam. "It was different. I didn't — it wouldn't have worked between us anyways, but, yeah. There was a guy and we were together for a bit when my career first started, and I wasn't exactly out to the public about my sexuality yet, so we kept it a secret. And eventually it got to him, and he called it off because he said he couldn't handle being a dirty little secret anymore."

Liam's hands grab his hips, as if to steady him. His thumbs brush circles through Zayn's t-shirt, and he doesn't look at all upset over what Zayn just said. "I can handle it," he says seriously. "It's obviously not ideal, but if you really want to try this, then I can handle the rest."

"What if I can't?" Zayn asks. He's not sure if he can. Not sure if he can stop himself from pulling Liam towards him whenever he gets the chance, not sure if he can resist kissing Liam every time he smiles or says something that makes Zayn's stomach twist and turn in the best possible way. He's not the kind of person who does things halfway, and he doesn't know if he can handle being with Liam in private and not shout it to the whole world that Liam is his.

"Then you let me know," Liam says simply. "If you decide you want to change your mind, you tell me. And I'll deal with it."

Zayn bites his cheek, stalling. "You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Okay, then," Zayn agrees. "I guess we're… dating. Privately."

"Does that mean I'm allowed to kiss you now?"

Zayn smiles down at him. "I guess you've earned it, after a four year long crush and all."

"You're never going to let that go, are you?" Liam sighs.

Zayn leans down, lips inches from Liam's. "Never."

—

And it's that easy. That easy to just slip into this  _thing_  with Liam. Relationships, technically, but it feels like more than that, ridiculously enough. Nights spent on the tour bus playing video games with Liam that end with them both sprawled out in Zayn's bed, out of breath from kissing and teasing each other. It's during these nights that Zayn learns everything he can about Liam, quietly muttered secrets that shine light on the darker parts of Liam's life that Zayn had yet to discover. He learns that Liam dropped out during his last year of college, and that he'd decided on security because it was easy and he liked the idea of protecting people. His favourite colours are blue and red ("I can't chose between them," he'd whined when Zayn asked) and he doesn't like ice cream at all. He's got two sisters, and his parents are still together, and he visits them as often as he can. He likes the same kind of music as Zayn and likes the same kind of movies and TV shows. And they just  _fit,_ so fucking easily. It's like this was meant to happen, like Zayn is meant to fit in the spot just under Liam's arm, tucked against his side. It's like Liam's lips were made to fit against Zayn's.

This is both a wonderful and terrible thing, in Zayn's opinion. It's great when they're alone. When they're at a hotel and he sneaks Liam into his room, or when they're on the bus. Because no one's around, and they don't have to hold back. He can lean over and capture Liam's lips with his own and push him against the back of the sofa and run his fingertips over Liam's skin. He can bury his face in the crook of Liam's neck and laugh without a care because he doesn't have one. But they can't live in these places, and it's hard. Being out in public with Liam and not being able to touch him drives Zayn mad. Not being able to just grab his hand and show him off.

And he can't always resist that urge to touch Liam like they're alone, so it's really no surprise that they get caught.

They're out on the town for the day. Louis and Niall wanted to do some shopping, and Zayn figured he could use the fresh air and maybe a t-shirt that isn't wrinkled and hasn't been worn fifteen times. He never packs enough when he goes on tour, and it's actually a surprise that he's lasted this long. Though, admittedly, he would have run out of clothes a while ago if he hadn't taken to stealing Liam's shirts because they smell like him.

Lou and Niall are in the change rooms, and Liam's slouching around, looking a bit lost. Zayn's got a t-shirt in his arms that he wants to try on after one of the change rooms is free, and he sneaks up behind Liam and presses his lips to the very obvious, very noticeable lovebite on his neck. ("I thought you said no visible marks!" "On  _me_. You're fair game, Liam.")

Liam doesn't even jump. It's like he's memorized how Zayn's lips feel, and he doesn't have to turn to know it's him. "What are you doing?" he asks, holding still, like he's worried Zayn will stop if he moves.

Zayn grins against his neck. "Mine," he whispers, because Liam is, even if it's not permanent. Who knows how long this will last? How long they'll both be willing to do this? But Zayn's not thinking about that. He's only thinking about the fact that they have this for now, and that's enough for him.

Liam finally turns, a fond grin on his face. "You're very possessive," he says. "I didn't realize that when we first started this."

Zayn shrugs. "Does that bother you?"

"No," Liam says. He leans in, lips so close to Zayn's that he almost  _has_ to taste them. "As long as I get to leave marks on you one day. Show everyone that you're mine, too."

"I fucking  _knew_  it."

Zayn literally jumps away from Liam, eyes wide. He doesn't miss the slightly wounded look Liam gives him, but he can't do anything to comfort it right now because Louis is smirking at them and shaking his head like he'd just stumbled upon something great.

"How long?" he asks, waving between Zayn and Liam.

Zayn glares at him. "Don't know what you're talking about," he says, just as Liam says, "'bout two and a half weeks."

" _Liam_."

"What?" he shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "He already knows. Telling him the date isn't going to change that."

"Knows what?" Niall calls from the change room. "I can't see! What am I missing?"

Louis leans on Niall's door and says, too quietly for the store clerk (a bored looking guy who's slouching against the counter and not paying them any attention at all) to hear, "Zayn and Liam are dating."

"Oh," Niall says. "You're just realizing his now? They got together that day after the interview with his mum. You can always tell when Zayn's gotten laid because he —"

"Gross," Louis says, cutting him off. He looks really annoyed all of a sudden. "But seriously, you thought you could hide it even from us?"

It was mutually decided between them not to tell the others, mostly because Louis has a big mouth, but also because… Zayn isn't really sure. It just felt like something he wanted to keep to himself, not just because it would jeopardize Liam's job. It's like their relationship is this fragile, untainted thing, and Zayn is worried that if they tell people, it'll ruin it. As stupid as that is, it was a risk he just wasn't willing to take.

"Zayn wanted to tell you," Liam says. "I asked him not to."

Niall comes out of the change room, dressed in a simple white t-shirt. "Think Josh'll like it?"

"It looks nice," Liam offers awkwardly.

"I should have seen this coming," Louis realizes. "Look at him. And he's so  _charming_. Dear God, Zayn, you're like Britney and Kevin Feder—whatever, only he's your bodyguard, not your backup dancer."

Zayn can't help but think that this is exactly why they hadn't told anyone. But Liam, on the other hand, seems pretty pleased over the whole thing. So maybe it's not that bad, if it puts that slight smile on Liam's face.

Liam tugs him forward, pulling them flush together. There's no one else in the shop but the cashier, at least, and there aren't any fans or cameras outside, so he allows it. And maybe this  _is_  a good thing, because now that Louis and Niall know, the others are going to find out, and they're going to have to hide a little less. Which means a little more time where he's allowed moments like this.

"You okay?" Liam whispers, lips by his ear.

"They were going to find out eventually," Zayn admits. "Guess I'm glad it was sooner rather than later. They probably would have been a bit upset if we'd of waited forever to tell them."

"Definitely would have been," Louis says. "And you're a shit whisperer."

Zayn groans and steps back. "I'm going to go try this on," he says, lifting up the shirt in his hand.

He heads into the change room and hears Niall duck back into the one beside him. As he's pulling off his shirt, he hears Louis whisper, almost inaudibly, "So you two are seriously together?"

"No," Liam whispers right back. "We're just screwing with you."

"Nice hickey, by the way," Louis teases. "You're both terrible at the secret relationship thing. I'm actually disappointed in myself for taking this long to realize."

They're quiet for a moment and Zayn holds his breath, thinking maybe he just can't hear them, or they moved somewhere else in the store. And then he hears Liam's soft, hesitant, "Is it okay, that we're together?"

Louis snorts loudly, but he's still whispering when he replies. "Is this your way of asking my permission?"

He can just imagine what Liam's doing right now. He's probably got his gaze on the floor, or on a rack of clothing, anything but Louis' eyes. And he's probably rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand, maybe sucking on his bottom lip the way he's prone to do. "You guys mean the world to him," he hears Liam say, and he knows he's not supposed to be hearing this. That they both think he can't. "And he means pretty close to that to me, so I'm sort of hoping that you're okay with it."

Again, it's quiet, and Zayn starts to pull on the shirt he's supposed to be trying on. Until he hears Louis. He freezes, straining to hear. "Would you stop seeing him if I told you that I didn't approve?"

Liam makes a choking sound. "I couldn't even if I wanted to," he says, louder than he probably intended. "Until the day he doesn't want me anymore, I'll probably be right there beside him."

Louis hums. "Well in that case, you have permission. You've got the Tomlinson stamp of approval. You're good."

Liam laughs and says, in his normal voice, "Thanks, Louis."

"Anytime, Muscles," Louis says easily.

Zayn tugs on the new shirt and steps out of the room, finding Niall out of his own, too, but he's back in his normal clothes. "So?" he asks, lifting his arms. "Get it, or no?"

It's just a simple black t-shirt with a cool dragon design on it, but Liam looks at him like he just stepped out in one of those ridiculously expensive suits Maxx is always forcing him into. "Definitely get it," he says.

Louis clucks his tongue and smirks at Liam. Zayn ducks back into the change room before Louis can say something that'll make them all uncomfortable.

—

He should have known. He should have seen this coming. It was only a matter of time, and Louis is  _such_  a fucking gossip.

He remembers the time when he brought all the boys to visit his family. It was only about two years ago, and he'd been really nervous, for several reasons. He wanted his family to like his friends, but he also needed his friends to like his family. Of course, they all had. Everyone loves Josh naturally, and Niall kept complimenting his mum's cooking, winning over her heart immediately. His sisters loved Harry instantly, and Louis — Louis and his mother are actually friends. Like, call each other once every couple days, talk about their days and their relationships and their jobs type of friends. Like two long distant girlfriends who moved away from each other after University or something. It's really freaking weird, the fact that sometimes his mum calls Louis to check up on him, and sometimes Louis knows things about their lives before Zayn does.

Zayn has told them countless times that they aren't allowed to be friends. And in times like this, he really wishes he'd of put his foot down a little harder.

He stares down at his phone and considers not answering. Liam's napping beside him, almost completely naked. He doesn't sleep in clothes, Liam. This is something Zayn learned almost immediately. They don't fool around often (only twice after that first time, and never crossing that final line, though Zayn thinks about it a lot), but Liam still strips out of his clothes every night and climbs into bed in just his boxers. It might be one of Zayn's favourite things about him. If he had it his way, Liam would never be fully dressed.

He knows exactly what this call is about. He's been waiting for it, actually, and he's surprised that she waited so long. And while he normally looks forward to their occasional phone calls, even if they always end in tears, this time he isn't. But he can't just ignore her, not without feeling guilty about it until he caves and calls her back, so he presses 'talk' and lifts his phone to his ear. "Hey, mum."

"Zayn," she says happily. "You're not busy, are you?"

Zayn looks at Liam's sleeping figure, and Liam lets out a quiet snore before tucking his hand under his chin. He looks lovely like that, curled up on himself, eyelashes fanning over his cheeks. "Nah, I'm not busy."

"You're with him, aren't you?" she guesses.

Maybe it's because he's the only boy, but Zayn's always had a closer relationship with his mum than his sisters do, or than he has with his father. And, except for Harry, she knows him better than anyone in the world. So is doesn't really surprise him that she caught on that easily, but he still makes an embarrassed sound. " _Mum_."

"Tell him I said hello," she says.

Zayn winces. "He's, um, sleeping, actually."

It's silent for a beat. "Good. Tell me all about him before he wakes up."

Zayn rolls his eyes. There's a reason her and Louis get along. They're both really similar, in the weirdest ways. "I'm sure Lou already told you everything."

"He didn't, actually. He was surprisingly vague. He just said that his name is Liam, and he's your bodyguard, and you're very fond of him."

Zayn absently brushes a hand over Liam's, the one that's hanging over his back, arm bent at an odd angle because he'd fallen asleep while trying to hold Zayn's hand. "I am," he admits.

"Aw," his mother coos. "When do I get to meet him?" A pause. "And when do I get to see you again? I miss you."

"I miss you, too," he says, and his voice is getting thick already. "Hopefully soon. We have a two week break coming up, before we fly to the states. I was planning on coming home for a few days."

"And you're bringing the boyfriend, right?"

Zayn worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He'd like to, he would. And he's not exactly sure if he could handle being away from Liam for that long, at this point. He's gotten so used to Liam being a constant in his life that it'd feel weird to not have him right there at all times, within arms reach whenever Zayn needs him.

"Might be a bit too soon for that, don't you think?" he says anyways, because it is. He's never brought someone home to meet his parents. He's never been in a serious enough relationship before, or been comfortable with a person enough to bring them into that part of his life.

"Nonsense," his mother says instantly. "You've known him for months now, haven't you? If you aren't serious about him yet, you're not going to be. And I have a feeling you already are. So bring him home. I'm sure the girls would love to tease you about this, and I'd like to get to know the young man who's sworn to keep my boy safe."

"I—" his talking must have woken him, because Liam stirs, making a quiet sound as he rolls over. He blinks slowly up at Zayn, a smile sliding onto his lips, and Zayn forgets he's on the phone for a minute. "Hey, babe."

"Who're you talkin' to?" Liam mumbles sleepily. He rubs at his eyes and frowns, lips pouting a bit.

"Oh, he's awake?" his mother asks. "Ask him! No, wait, tell him. He's not allowed to refuse. Tell him that."

Zayn laughs, a blush crawling into his cheeks. He clears his throat and says into the phone, "I'll talk to him about it later."

"Oh, fine," his mother huffs. "I get it. You don't want us scaring him off."

Liam gives him a questioning look, but Zayn pretends he doesn't see it. "Anyways, how are you? How're the girls? How's dad?"

"Your father," she says, and he can hear her moving around all of a sudden, like she's in the kitchen, or something, "is being insufferable. For some reason he seems to think that I'm a fire hazard, and he's banned me from the kitchen for the time being."

"You're in the kitchen anyways, aren't you?"

"I am. It was  _one_  pie. And it only partially caught on fire. Honestly, I don't see what the fuss is about. No one got hurt too badly, and the kitchen is still in one piece."

"You're shit at baking, mum," Zayn teases. "Thought you'd of realized that by now."

"Language, Zayn," she says without heat. "And that's no way to talk to the woman who birthed you. I brought you into this world, and —"

"You can take me out of it," Zayn finishes, with a fond roll of his eyes. "Heard that one before."

"Yes, well. I'm actually trying to—"

"I told you I'd make dinner tonight." His dad's voice is tiny on the other side of the phone, so different from the loud voice he's used to in real life. "Didn't I?"

His mother giggles likes a school girl. "I might have forgotten. Possibly."

"Like you forgot the pie in the oven," his father teases. "Every time with you, woman."

His parents have always been like this, ridiculously, hopelessly in love with each other. Of course they still fight, and there was a time when he was about thirteen when he honestly thought they were going to get a divorce. He remembers sitting awake at night, listening to them argue, day after day. But they'd worked through it, like they always do, and he can't imagine ever being lucky enough to get something like that. Being with someone who genuinely loves him and isn't going to walk away whenever they encounter a rough patch. He doesn't want some perfect romance where they never fight and things are always peachy. He wants someone who thinks it's still worth it even when they fight.

"Ew," he hears someone else say, and he smiles to himself as Safaa adds, "We  _eat_  in here. That's so gross."

"What's gross?" his dad asks. And then he hears the loud, wet sound of a kiss, and he makes a grossed-out face that no doubt matches the one his sister is making back in their kitchen. "That?"

"I'm sorry, Zayn," his mother says, remembering that he's there. "I didn't realize everyone was home. Your sister's supposed to be at a friend's house."

"Emily is  _not_  my friend anymore," Safaa says dramatically. "We don't like her. She's evil."

"It's okay," Zayn says, hating how choke he sounds. It's just — it's hard not to miss them when he realizes that everything is going on back there like he never left. Life continues on, exactly the same, only he's not  _there_. "I'll talk to you after."

"And ask Liam! Don't forget! Love you, miss you, your father's giving me trouble for calling you on the cellphone again because of long distance charges, so I'm gonna hang up. Call you soon. Bye!"

"Bye," Zayn mumbles, but she's already gone, the call ended. He drops his phone onto the bed and sighs, just as Liam props himself up on his elbows. Zayn wipes at his eyes furiously, hating that they're wet even though nothing that was said during that conversation could be considered sad or sappy. It was just so  _normal_ , though, and his life is so not. Not that he minds that, because he doesn't. He wouldn't trade his life for anything, but sometimes he misses normal.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Liam asks, stroking the back of his hand with his thumb.

Zayn shakes his head. "Nothing to talk about, really."

"Okay," Liam says easily. "Just let me know if you change your mind."

Zayn slides down the bed a bit, so his head is resting on the pillows. Liam scoots closer, throwing a leg over his thighs. "I have a question for you, though?"

Liam's busy tracing one of Zayn's tattoos, so he doesn't look up. "Mm?"

"It's sort of a big deal," Zayn admits. "And feel free to say no, because I know it's sort of soon, and it's short notice, and I know we might not be at that stage in our relationship yet, but —"

"I'd love to," Liam says instantly. He grins up at Zayn. "You're asking me to come home with you, right? Meet your family."

"How'd you know?"

Liam laughs. "It wasn't that hard to put the pieces together. You were talking to your mum, you said you'd ask me later, and you had that nervous shake in your voice that you sometimes get, just before you're about to say something important, or do something that scares you, so it wasn't hard to figure out."

"Nervous shake?" Zayn asks. "I don't have a nervous shake."

"Yeah, you do," Liam teases. "And your hands shake as much as your voice, sometimes. You're like an open book."

Zayn is pretty sure he isn't, actually, but maybe he is to Liam. "A good one, I hope."

"Best seller," Liam says swiftly.

Zayn kisses his forehead and cards his hands through Liam's hair. "So you're really up for coming, then?"

"It's my job to follow you everywhere, isn't it?" Liam replies. "And it's a tiresome one, but someone has to do it."

Fuck, that reminds him. "Speaking of tiresome things we don't want to do," he groans. "I have that thing in two days, with—"

"Photo shoot," Liam supplies. He knows Zayn's schedule better than Zayn, most of the time. "It won't be that bad."

Zayn raises his eyebrows. "You've never been to one," he points out. "It  _is_  that bad. For one, I'll be half naked most the time, squeezing into, like, thirty different outfits. Not to mention the fact that they apparently want to do a shot with a few other models, so I'm going to have to pose with a bunch of people I hardly know that will have to, like, touch me. And the refreshments they have at these kinds of things are always flavoured water and pieces of cucumber and shit. And they'll pile on the make-up, and it'll probably be really hot so it'll, like, melt off my skin by the time we're done, and — I just hate photo shoots. They're the worst part of the job, hands down my least favourite."

"Really?" Liam honestly looks shocked. "I always figured that if you didn't get into singing, you would have been a model or something."

Zayn gives him a blank look. "A model?" he deadpans. "Me?"

"You've got the face for it, babe," Liam says with a grin. He traces Zayn's cheekbones, lips, eyebrows, over the tiny scar that's been there since that night that feels like it was forever ago. "Look at your facial structure. You're like a work of art. If I was any good at taking pictures, you're the only thing I'd ever want to photograph."

Liam does this all the time. He says the cheesiest things completely seriously, without an ounce of embarrassment. It's incredibly endearing. "You should come with me," Zayn says. And now that he has, he can't believe he didn't think of it sooner. "Seriously, you should. I've brought Louis with me to one before. They let him just stand around and chat with the models and stuff. And it made my life a lot easier because then I had someone to talk to between takes."

"Really? You want me to?"

"Yeah," Zayn says enthusiastically. "I do. Definitely. It's a brilliant idea. And if anyone asks why you're there, I'll just say I felt more comfortable with a member of my security accompanying me, but I doubt they'll even ask."

Liam still looks hesitant. "Are you sure you want me to? I'm going to stick out like a sore thumb at a photo shoot. Half of my wardrobe is plain black t-shirts. The other half is jeans that I've owned since I was nineteen."

Zayn pushes Liam's leg off him and easily clambers on top of him. This might just be his favourite place in the entire world, on top of Liam. Looking down into his brown eyes, wrinkled at the side from a smile, or wide and awed when Zayn's grinding down against him, or just warm and fond, like they are now. He rubs his hands down Liam's chest, over the indents of his ribs, feeling the taut stretch of skin over muscle and bones, sliding them back up to brush his fingertips just lightly over Liam's nipples.

"I want you to come everywhere with me," Zayn admits.

He really does, is the thing. Wants Liam with him all the time, to the point where it's almost concerning. It's started to bug him, the times when he turns around and Liam isn't right there. When he's back stage, getting ready for his show, and Liam's too busy watching the show itself to be there. Or when he's just hanging out with the lads, and Liam's somewhere with the rest of the security crew, doing whatever it is they do, not with Zayn because they think that it's best if people don't realize that they're spending literally every waking minute together, because they might realize what's really going on. His hands literally itch to find Liam's sometimes, and his gut twists especially when he's in a crowd and Liam isn't there. When he's doing a meet and greet and the rest of his security is around, but Liam's nowhere to be found because they said he wasn't needed. He's gotten too dependent on Liam being  _right there_  that it's starting to get to him when he's  _not_.

Liam laughs at him, hands bunching up the back of Zayn's shirt. "Everywhere, huh? I think people might start to get suspicious if I follow you every time you need to go to the bathroom."

"Okay, fair enough," Zayn chuckles. "The rest of the time, though."

Liam makes a considering face, head tilting to the side, eyebrows raised. "I don't know," he says slowly. "I might just get sick of you."

"Don't," Zayn says lowly, his fingers curl against Liam's skin, and he knows it's a joke, he does, but it's — He really isn't sure if he could handle that, honestly. Obviously he'd have to, but still. It's not something he even wants to  _consider_ , and that's sort of terrifying in itself. It shouldn't be this easy to fall for someone, but he can't seem to stop himself. "Don't get sick of me."

"I'm pretty sure it's not possible," Liam assures him. "You'll be the one getting sick of me, and we both know it. I'm not very exciting. I mean, the most exciting thing I've ever done is work for you, and eventually you're going to realize that I'm not enough. And that's fine, I'm prepared for that day to come, so you don't have to worry about, like, breaking my heart, because I'm really just happy that we got this, at least temporarily, and—"

Zayn cuts him off with a kiss. He pushes his lips firmly against Liam's, like he can clear away any and all doubt with nothing but a sigh against Liam's lips. But he can't, so he pulls back and says fiercely, "Didn't I tell you not to say things like that?"

"If you kiss me like that every time that I do, I'm not going to be able to stop," Liam teases. But he's changing the subject, Zayn can tell. Brushing this whole thing off because he honestly believes that he's the only lucky one here. That Zayn would have no reason to feel blessed that Liam wants him. Which is such bullshit that it makes Zayn dizzy.

He easily slips off Liam's body and climbs off the bed, heading for the cupboard. "Hey, where are you going?" Liam whines. "I was comfortable."

Zayn shoots him a look as he pulls out the shoebox. Liam's gaze drops to it, and then he nods, like he understands, but he really doesn't. But he stays silent as Zayn perches on the bed, one leg tucked beneath him, and writes.

It's so much easier to write something down than to say it out loud. To bear your heart on a page than to risk stumbling over words with a shaking voice. It's easier to get it right when you can edit, reword, erase and fix it until it's right than it is to blurt something out.

Words, Zayn's always thought, are easy. Saying them out loud to the people who matter to you is not.

Liam falls back asleep at one point, hand reaching towards Zayn, arm fully outstretched. His chest rises and falls evenly, and his lips part every-so-slightly. His eyes twitch under his eyelids, eyelashes fluttering occasionally, and his fingers curl and uncurl, like he's having an unpleasant dream. Zayn checks the time on his phone, realizes it's getting pretty late, and he puts his things away before shutting off the light and crawling into that spot next to Liam, where his body curves just right so they're tucked together, touching in every place Zayn can manage.

—

Zayn wakes up in the middle of the night, panting and clutching at the blankets. It's not the first time this has happened, but it's the first time in a while. That he'd closed his eyes and drifted back to that night that he doesn't even consciously think about anymore, all that often at least. It's definitely the first time he's done it since he's been sleeping with Liam.

It's not even accurate, the dream he had. It's the same guys from that night, sure, but it's not the same script. It's completely different. He's in the club still, a little drunk, a little high from a joint his friend had passed him before they left. He was dancing with someone before, some faceless girl with a great body whose name he never got, or if he did he can't remember. And just like that night, he has to go to the bathroom. So he drifts easily through the crowd, giggly and just  _up_ , so freaking happy. It's a good night. A great night. One of the best, just relaxing, hanging out with friends, feeling completely normal for once.

And then he's at the bathroom, reaching to push open the door, and he notices a guy standing beside it. One who smiles at him, head cocked to the side. "Don't I know you?" he says, and Zayn shakes his head, no. "Are you sure? Because you look pretty familiar."

"Justin Bieber," someone says from behind him. "Innit?"

"I think you're confused, mate," Zayn says, going to step into the bathroom. The door opens easily, but it doesn't close behind him. He waits to hear it click shut, but it doesn't, so he turns around. And there's four of them now, standing just behind him. "Can I help you?"

"Can I help you?" one of the guys mocks. "I don't know, Zayn. It is Zayn, right? Malik. The one from the videos and the radio. The famous one."

"That's not me," Zayn lies, because this seems like the kind of situation where lying is the best option. "Sorry."

"Bullshit," the guy nearest him says, calling him out. He shoves at Zayn's shoulders and Zayn stumbles backwards, stunned. "Fucking lying little rich bitch, aren't you?"

"Don't think this is the type of place for people like you," one of them says. Zayn isn't sure by this point. The music is too loud, the lights in the bathroom are blinding, and he's too disoriented to tell them apart. "Think he's lost, guys."

Someone else pushes him again. "Think we should help him find his way home?" And then he's stumbling, hitting the ground. He tries to cover his head, and the kick gets him in the stomach. So does the next one, and the third one connects with his ribs. His eyebrow's split, he can feel the blood oozing from it from where he'd hit his head. And he can't fight back because he's too drunk, too stunned, too out numbered. All he can do is lay there and wait for it to be over, if it ever ends. It feels like it never will.

And then he woke up.

He wipes at his forehead, and his hand comes away slick with sweat. Without thinking, he traces the scar above his eyebrow. He's still breathing heavy, and he notices the way his hands are shaking.

He's pathetic, he knows it. It shouldn't still be bothering him. That happened  _months_  ago, and there hasn't been an incident like that since. Never will be, most likely. He should get over it. It wasn't that big of a deal. It definitely shouldn't be waking him up in the middle of the night the way it is.

Someone makes a sound beside him and Zayn startles before he realizes it's Liam. It's too dark on the bus for him to see anything, really, but he feels Liam sit up, knows he's awake.

"What's wrong?" he asks. "I can feel you trembling."

Zayn takes a breath and forces himself to relax. Focuses on stilling his hands and his body. He takes another breath, holds it, and releases it a beat later. "I'm fine, it's nothing. Bad dream."

Liam settles back down beside him, and Zayn makes himself do the same, acting like he's completely fine because he is. He's overreacting, that's all. Being ridiculous. He wishes Louis were here because Louis would probably say it for him.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Liam asks a little while later.

He thought Liam had fallen back asleep, but apparently he's just as awake as Zayn, who's been staring up at the ceiling for the last few minutes, trying to build up enough confidence to close his eyes and fall back asleep, but it's hard when he knows that he could get sucked into that loop again, play that scene out in his mind over and over again. No matter how many times it changes, no matter how many different variations there is, it always end the same. Him, laying on the ground, bleeding, completely hopeless. He hates it.

And he doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to admit out loud how much of a bitch he's being about this. If it were anyone else, he would have brushed the question off, said no and pretended to be asleep again. But it's Liam, and it's Liam's arm around his waist, and Zayn finds himself nodding, even if he can't see it.

"You know why you work for me, right?" he starts.

Liam chuckles. "Because you're prone to getting mobbed by teenage girls?"

"No. My friends and apparently everyone else was worried about me after, um… it was this thing, it wasn't really in any of the tabloids because we were pretty good on shutting everyone up about it. But I, uh— There was this scene at this club. And I got jumped by a group of guys. Fractured two ribs, nearly got a concussion, was in the hospital for two days. It wasn't that bad, but everyone thought it was. So they kind of forced me into hiring you because they thought that I needed tighter security. Someone to make sure that it didn't happen again."

It gets silent, for a while. Zayn wonders if maybe Liam's thinking the same thing as him, that he's making a big deal out of nothing. If Liam thinks he should suck it the fuck up, because people get into fights all the time and he shouldn't be so fucking bothered by it.

"That explains a lot," Liam finally says. He feels Liam searching around the bed until he finds Zayn's hand, and he squeezes it tightly. "Those two times in the club, where you looked like you were having a panic attack when I found you in the crowd. I've always sort of wondered about that, but I didn't think it was my place to ask."

Zayn winces. "I don't think about it, because I know it's not a big deal. But sometimes when it's — when the lights are flashing and everyone's pressing in around me it just freaks me out. Brings me back to it, and I start panicking, like it's happening all over again." His breathing sounds ragged, even to his own ears. "I know I'm being stupid, but I can't help it."

"You're not stupid," Liam says firmly. "You're not." He brings Zayn's hand up to his lips. "Is that what your dream was about, then? That night."

Zayn nods, remembers Liam can't see it, and adds, "Yeah. Maybe. I don't know. It's a little different but, yeah, I guess. Same concept. Same ending."

Liam releases his hand. Zayn makes an upset noise, trying to find it again in the dark, but Liam's straddling him before he can. He's a heavy weight, settling just on his hips, solid and warm. He's got both his hands splayed beside Zayn's head, and he leans down, teasingly close to Zayn's lips, close enough that Zayn can feel his breath on his skin.

"I will never," Liam says passionately, "ever let anyone hurt you. Ever. Do you understand me? You don't ever have to worry about that. As long as I'm near you, you'll be safe. Whatever it takes. Always."

Zayn feels choked up all of a sudden, and it has nothing to do with the heavy body sitting on top of his own. "Liam…"

"I mean it," Liam says. "And not just because it's my job. I can't stand even the thought of anyone — anyone ever hurting you. I can't. I couldn't ever let that happen."

And just like that, Zayn feels better. Not completely, not one hundred percent, but better. "I'll hold you to that," he says.

"You better. I mean it." He finally,  _finally_ kisses Zayn. "Now bed. You've got that photo shoot in the morning. Don't want bags under your eyes, do you?"

Zayn chuckles as Liam rolls off him. "Of course not. That would be a travesty."

Liam curls up against him this time, his head pillowed on Zayn's chest, his arm and legs wrapped possessively around Zayn's body. Zayn knows he means it, knows without any doubt that Liam would protect him from anything, even if he also knows that it's irrational, that he's rarely in any danger. It's still a comforting thought.

—

"A little closer, Zayn, please," the photographer instructs. "Just — act like you're actually attracted to her, even just a little."

Zayn bites down on his tongue to hold back the bitter  _no, fuck off_  that threatens to come out of his mouth. He's going to have words with Eleanor as soon is this is done. Or whoever it was that okayed this, because this is  _not_  fucking okay.

He's in  _leather. Fucking. Pants._  Leather. Full on fucking  _leather_. Which sounded really cool at first, it did, but fun fact? Leather doesn't breathe. If you sweat in leather, it's like being wrapped in plastic and forced to sit in your own nasty sweat. It's horrible. And they're tight. Really, really tight. He can see the outline of his dick every time he looks down.

It's not  _just_  that, though. He doesn't have a shirt on and they'd covered up his tattoos. Every single one of them because they apparently weren't appropriate for what the photographer was going for. Which is, in essence, Zayn being continuously grouped by a group of admittedly attractive people. They're all on their knees, mostly, grabbing at his thighs and his chest like a bunch of rabid animals fighting for the last scrap of meat on a carcass.

The girl in question, who he's supposed to look interest in (the only one out of the group that he's supposed to pay attention to, the lucky one who managed to get his attention or whatever it is that the photographer said earlier) blinks down at him. In her heels she stands inches taller than him, and she's got long black hair that falls to her waist. She's beautiful, she is, with her dark skin and her ruby lips and her lovely golden brown eyes, but Zayn is just not interested in any way. How can he be, with Liam standing just off to the side, arms crossed over his chest in his signature pose as he leans against the wall and watches with narrowed eyes?

He looks annoyed, too, which is surprising. Liam rarely gets irritated, and they've only been here an hour but he looks about ready to drag Zayn off the set and physically remove him from the building. Zayn wishes he would. Would happily allow Liam to take him away from this.

"Or would you rather we trade Vanessa with one of the male models?" the photographer asks. "Would that make you more comfortable?"

" _No_."

He knows he  _thought_  that word, but he definitely isn't the one who said it. Everyone turns, and the photographer sounds more than a little annoyed when she asks, "Who is that? Does he work for us?" while pointing at Liam.

Liam's blushing. Zayn can see it even from here, and he's leaning heavily against the wall like he wishes it could suck him up and make him disappear. "Sorry," Liam says quickly. "I—"

"He's with me," Zayn says loudly.

The photographer looks at him, a sigh passing her lips, like she thinks Zayn is extremely difficult. "Of course. Boyfriend, I'm assuming?"

"Bodyguard," Zayn says without missing a beat.

"Would you rather  _him_  be up there with you? Is that something you'd like for us to arrange? Can we get the bodyguard in make-up, please!"

Zayn goes to say no, goes to protest as loudly as he can. Eleanor would kill him. His whole management team, most likely, would kill him. This can't happen, definitely not, but what comes out of his mouth is "Are you going to put him in leather pants, too?"

For the first time this entire photo shoot, the photographer smiles at him. "I like the way you think."

The photographer calls break, and they all shuffle off the set. Someone hands Zayn a shirt, and he tugs it on before falling into one of the chair provided for him. Immediately someone comes over and starts fussing with his hair, and someone else starts wiping under his eyes before applying eyeliner, and Zayn just sits there, letting them paint him and use him like a dress-up doll.

He can hear Liam in the distance, saying something hurried but he's too far away for Zayn to pick up the words. He can't crane his neck to try and see, either, but a moment later Liam falls into the chair next to him with a dazed look on his face, and someone starts combing back his hair. He turns, giving Zayn a panicked look, but Zayn only shrugs in response.

"Just go with it," he offers. "Pretend it's just another part of your job."

"Pout for me, darling," one of the make-up artists says to Liam. "You've got delicious lips, anyone ever tell you that?"

Under normal circumstances, Zayn might get jealous over that. Under current circumstances, Zayn can't do anything but laugh at the look on Liam's face. The make-up artist applies gloss to Liam's lips, nothing in a heavy shade, just a natural colour that makes Liam's lips look shiny and like he'd just been kissed roughly. And he is, in fact, put in leather pants.

None of this even phases Zayn. He's gotten so used to how crazy his life is that taking his bodyguard and putting him in place of one of the models is actually pretty normal, compared to some of the other stuff. Liam, on the other hand, looks dazed and confused through the entire thing. And the photographer looks like Christmas came early when Liam strips off his shirt.

"Where did you  _hire_  him?" she hisses at Zayn before they get back on set. "I want one."

Zayn shrugs for what feels like the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes. "Do you want me back on set, or…?"

"Yes, yes." She waves him off.

It takes them about five minutes to get in the right position. Again, Zayn's got about four or five people crouching at his feet and reaching up to touch him, and he's got Liam just beside them, standing there looking uncomfortable.

"Henry, is it?" the photographer calls. No one answers. "Pretty bodyguard with the abs."

"Liam," Liam corrects. "It's— my name is Liam."

"Right," the photographer says, like she couldn't give any less of a shit. "Luke, we need you to turn a bit — careful to keep those abs facing me, though— so you're looking away from Zayn. And Zayn, we want you to be reaching for Luke. All these admirers at your feet, dying for your attention, and the only person you want in the entire world is the only person who doesn't want you back. He's unobtainable. Immune to your allure. You need him desperately but you can't have him. Okay?"

Zayn's snorts and Liam actually laughs before covering his mouth, but the irony of the situation isn't lost on him. Because Liam is the only person in the world he wants, and he has to pretend like he doesn't. He could have had his pick of nearly anyone else, and instead he fell for someone who he can't really be with, not in the way he wants.

"Yes!" the photographer cries, and Zayn would snort again if he didn't think it would screw up the shot. " _That's_  what we're looking for! The desire, the need. The desperation on your face is  _perfect_."

Lights flash, pictures are taken, but Liam breaks the shot to look over his shoulder, like he has to see the look on Zayn's face. Zayn waits for the photographer to shout at him, but she just takes more pictures and the other models move their hands a bit, sliding them over his body like he's an object and not a person because, in that moment, that's what he's supposed to be to them, really.

"Can we get everyone else out of the shot?" the photographer asks. "I want one with just the two of them. The chemistry here is  _amazing_. You did say he wasn't your boyfriend, right?"

"Right," Zayn says quickly. "He—"

"Should be," the photographer finishes for him. "The sparks are just  _flying_. Now, can we have the two of you embracing? We've got the unattainable love, now we want the shot where you get him, Zayn. Where Luke—"

"Liam," he corrects.

"Right, Luke." Zayn rolls his eyes at Liam. "Where Luke is finally yours, and you're about to get the only thing you've wanted for so long. The man who can have everything, who only wanted one person. And he finally has him. Okay? Not just love. We don't want vapid affection. We want  _heat_. _Fire_. We almost want to make the viewer feel like they're intruding on something important. Something more than they could ever even wish to have."

Liam awkwardly steps up to him, a barely suppressed laugh on his lips. "Is she serious?" he whispers. "Like, for real?"

Zayn shrugs. "One time they had me almost completely naked with paint all over my body and made me straddle a pool noodle. This is pretty tame."

"Pool noodle?"

Zayn nods as he curls a hand around Liam's back. He splays it wide there, holding him steady, and it's like they forget where they are for a moment. Liam's body curves towards his, like two puzzle pieces melding together. Zayn's leg goes between both of his, and Liam's arm goes just under Zayn's, curling up so his hand is gripping Zayn's shoulder from behind.

The tight leather of his own pants does little to cover him, and Liam's in the same predicament. He's not hard, not at all, but Zayn can feel the length of him anyways, pushing against the material. His heart starts racing, and he can't help the way he tries to shuffle himself a little closer, tangle his body with Liam's and touch him as much as he can. Liam's head tilts just to the left, and Zayn leans in, like he's trying to steal Liam's breath from his barely parted lips.

Liam's eyes are wide and almost wonderstruck, darting back and forth between both of Zayn's, only occasionally lowering to Zayn's lips. And he's so fucking beautiful that Zayn can't think. The stubble that covers his incredible jaw, those plump lips that taste sweet almost every time Zayn gets a chance to lick at them. Those thick eyebrows that wouldn't work right on anyone else, but offset the gentle look in Liam's eyes, making him look both rugged and vulnerable, at the same time. And his skin is warm against Zayn's everywhere they touch, his hand like a scalding hot iron on his shoulder, making him distinctly aware of where each fingertip presses into his skin. All he can hear, feel, see is Liam. Invading all his senses in the best way.

Someone coughs loudly and they both jump. The whole crew is just — they're all gaping at them, almost, except the photographer. "That is  _it_. That's a wrap. I've got everything I need here. Fuck. Someone get me a drink and those two a cold shower, stat."

Liam looks like he's refraining from running as he quickly walks off set, probably in search of his jeans. Zayn is desperate to get out of his leather pants, too, but first he heads over to the area behind where the photographer had been standing. There's a bunch of computers set up, and she's leaning over, pointing at a screen with one hand while the other clutches a coffee mug. "That's the one, it's perfect."

"Can I see them?" Zayn hesitantly asks.

The photographer looks up at him, a smirk sliding onto her lips. "You can do whatever you want, sweetie. That's the whole point, isn't it?"

Zayn has no idea what that means, but he isn't about to ask, either. "How many did you take?" he asks as he moves around to the other side of the station so he can see the screen.

The man sitting at the desk clicks something, and then they're scrolling through awkward shot after awkward shot of Zayn squinting at the pretty girl with the long black hair. He looks so odd with the make-up and no tattoos that he almost doesn't recognize himself. It's like he's a different person. Same general features, maybe, but they look worlds different. Like a doppelganger, but definitely not  _him_.

"None of those are usable," the photographer says, clucking her tongue. "Goodness, he looks constipated, doesn't he?" She looks up sharply, like she's just remembered that Zayn is standing right there. "Sorry, love. You're gorgeous but you can't act to save your life."

Zayn shrugs. He doesn't care because he's too busy watching as the new round of pictures come up. The ones with Liam. And it's a bad idea, he thinks, for Liam to be in the shot. Not just because he's going to have his ass handed to him on a silver platter for this, but because the photo shoot was supposed to be about Zayn. There's no way anyone's going to be looking at him with Liam right there.

Really, Zayn can't see much of a difference, but the photographer coos at the pictures, like they're perfect. They look just as awkward to Zayn as the others ones, only at least this time he can admire Liam's abs as they scroll through them. And then the scene changes again, and it's him and Liam wrapped up in each other. Literally, there's no other way to describe it. It's like they're one being, melding together seamlessly. He can barely see Liam's face, since he's turned with his back towards the camera and Zayn's face is definitely the center of the picture, but it doesn't matter. Zayn-on-screen isn't looking at the camera. He's looking at Liam like he holds the world in the palm of his hand and he's afraid that Liam's going to burn the whole thing to ground, himself included.

"That one," Zayn says. "That's the best one."

"Right you are," the photographer agrees. "That's the shot. Two hours and it took about five minutes once he got up there with you." She gives Zayn a coy smile. "Don't worry, I won't tell."

Zayn tenses. "Tell what?"

She leans in, the smell of her flowery, citrus perfume almost suffocating him. "I wanted you to look at him like you'd finally gotten what you wanted most in the world. Instead you looked at him like he'd already given it to you a million times over and you still needed more. And like I said, you're a terrible actor, but that shot was believable." She pulls back and laughs. "He's my bodyguard. Oh, you popstars crack me up. Someone get me a biscotti!"

She saunters away, laughing as she goes. Zayn chews his lip and heads off to find his clothes. By the time he's wiped the make-up from his cheeks and pulled his shirt on, Liam's already back in his own clothes, his hair resembling it's normal style once again, though it's still heavily weighed down by product.

"Can we go?" Liam asks.

Zayn nods. "Just give me two minutes, I need to make a phone call."

Liam nods and rocks back on his heels. "I'll just wait by the door."

When he's gone, Zayn pulls out his phone and dials a familiar number. Eleanor picks up on the second ring. "Zayn! How's the photo shoot going? You're not being difficult, are you?"

"No," Zayn says. "We're done, actually."

"Oh." He hears her typing. "Would you like me to send the car to get you, then?"

"Sure. But that's not why I was calling."

"Then what is it?"

"Is there anyway that, um, you could get me the unused shots from the shoot? I'm sure they'll have them copyrighted or whatever, but I won't post them anywhere. I'd just like them for myself."

Eleanor hums. "I'll see if that can be arranged. I'm sure they won't have a problem with it."

Zayn feels almost giddy the whole ride back to the hotel. He's not sure what it is, but he just feels  _good_. Today had started off horrible, that photo shoot being everything he'd dreaded, but it hadn't been that bad, in the end. But all it did do is once again enforce the fact that Liam makes everything in his life that much better. He makes the unbearable things bearable.

Where Zayn is all suppressed happiness, Liam still looks like he can't quite figure out what happened there. "Are they actually going to use those shots?" he asks.

Zayn shrugs. "Probably. You might have to sign a few documents, though, to allow them to. I'm not exactly sure what the protocol with this type of thing is."

Liam makes a face. "I don't see why. I'm sure you looked much better with that model than you did with me."

Zayn squeezes his hand extremely tight, chastising him without words. "Why do you always have to put yourself down? I don't understand why you're always acting like you're beneath everyone else. You're not. You're better than any of them."

Liam blinks up at him, expression softening. "I think you might be a little biased."

"I'm not," Zayn denies. "I'm definitely not."

They get dropped of at the back entrance, which is a good thing because they'd driven past the front of the hotel, and there's already a group of girls waiting out front with signs and the works. They'd only gotten to the hotel about an hour before the photo shoot, just enough time for Zayn to shower and make himself presentable, and he has no idea how they figured out where he was staying so quickly.

It isn't until they make it up to their room (his room, technically, but there's no doubt in his mind that Liam will be sleeping in his bed, even if he's still supposed to be with the rest of the security team) that he thinks of it. He's visited Liam's twitter page more than once since that first time, and Liam uses it quite frequently, actually. But he's still using that same old picture that only sort of looks like him, and Zayn's wondered for a while why he doesn't get a new one.

"Can we do anther photo shoot?" Zayn asks as he carefully locks the door. He turns, finding Liam sprawled out on the bed already.

"Wasn't one enough?" he asks with a yawn. "That was exhausting. And those leather pants were horrible."

"You don't have to wear leather pants," Zayn promises, tugging out his phone. "In fact, you don't have to wear anything."

Liam props himself up on the palms of his hands, eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you trying to get me to take naked pictures for you?" he asks, smirking.

"At least shirtless?" Zayn bargains. "And you need a new profile picture for twitter, babe. The last one's really dated."

"So?" Liam asks while tugging off his shirt. He tosses it to the ground and resumes laying there, lifted up by just his arms, which make the muscles in his biceps flex gloriously.

Zayn lifts his phone, camera already open. "Can I?"

Liam squirms a little, doing that full body blush that Zayn loves. "If you really want to," he says. "I just — don't see why you would, but sure."

"Why I'd want to take pictures of you?" Zayn asks, moving a bit so he can get the right angle. He knows none of these are going on the internet. He'll take one later of just Liam's face for Twitter. These are just — for his personal collection, if Liam lets him keep them. He snaps a picture, and Liam makes a ridiculous face at him, all pouty lips and scrunched eyebrows, hollowed cheeks and head tilted to the side. Zayn snorts a laugh and takes the picture.

"Yeah," Liam says. He shrugs. "Don't see why you would. You act like I'm something special to look at, but really—"

"Don't," Zayn says, cutting him off. "You're not allowed to put yourself down in my presence anymore. Okay? Or you're totally fired. I can do that. Fire you. Don't make me do it, Liam."

Liam rolls his eyes. "If I agree will you put that thing down and come kiss me?"

Zayn debates. He bites down on his lip, eyes trailing down Liam's body. "No, I'm not done taking pictures yet."

Liam groans. "Come on, I've been hard since you were all up against me in those leather pants." Zayn raises his eyebrows in surprise. "If you don't come over here I'll take care of the problem myself, Zayn. I swear."

Zayn lowers the phone and moves to the chair by the window. "Really."

Liam sits all the way up, legs dangling off the bed. His lips are parted in surprise, and he's shaking his head slowly, a look of disbelief in his eyes. "I was joking," he says. "But that turns you on, doesn't it?"

Zayn shifts in the chair, rubbing his sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans. It does, actually. The thought of Liam touching himself, naked and writhing on the bed— he doesn't even want to picture it as he licks his dry lips, because his jeans are already getting a bit tight just at the thought. "Maybe," he admits.

Liam's eyes seem to darken as he stands up, hands reaching for the button on his jeans. He pops it open, pulls down the zipper, and then he's stepping out of them, in nothing but his boxers and his socks. He perches on the edge of the bed for a moment before the socks are gone, too, and he's crawling back up the bed. He lays like that, spread out on the covers, back propped up by pillows, and steadies Zayn with a calm look. "Now what?"

Zayn frowns. "W-what?" His brain isn't working. How could it be, when Liam's slowly tracing a finger up his own thigh, stopping just when it reaches the bottom of his tight black boxer-briefs.

"Do you want me to just—?" Liam waves a hand. "The way I normally would? Or do you want to tell me what to do?"

Liam is naturally on the shier, quieter side. And while he might not think much of himself (which Zayn vows to change, somehow, because it baffles him that his perspective of Liam and Liam's perspective of himself are so vastly different), he's very comfortable with his body. With being naked. Zayn isn't, as much, but Liam never does more than blush a little when Zayn takes a moment to really appreciate his body the way it should be appreciated, and he never covers himself up in embarrassment the way Zayn sometimes does. So this should really be no surprise to him, the fact that Liam's comfortable doing this.

It still blows his mind anyways.

"Um, just… however you'd like," he says quickly, words stumbling out of his mouth. "I mean, if you want. You don't have to."

"That look on your face makes me want to," Liam says, voice already rougher than usual. He bites down on his bottom lip and slowly moves his hand up to grip himself through his boxers. He's already hard, very obviously straining against the material, and Zayn groans before he can stop himself.

He watches the way Liam teases himself, rubbing his palm over the bulge in his boxers, a soft sound escaping his lips. His own cock aches, and he wants to shuck his clothes, too, and wrap a hand around himself just to relieve the pressure. Instead, he says, "Take them off."

Liam makes a needy sound in the back of his throat and hurries to do just that, pushing the material down his legs and kicking the garment away from the bed. He settles himself back up against the pillow and makes a show of bending his legs and spreading them, cock curving up to lay flat against his stomach. So effortlessly sexy that it drives Zayn mad. He wants to touch him, desperately, but he also wants to watch, so he stays planted in his seat.

Liam wraps a hand around himself and slowly, eyes falling closed, pulls the foreskin down to reveal the head of his cock. Zayn bites down hard on his own lip but, unlike Liam, he isn't doing it to be sexy. He's doing it to hold back the moan that's bubbling up inside him. It's just — it's fucking erotic, it really is, and he's pretty sure that no one in the entire world has ever turned him on the way Liam does. Made him feel so electrified, buzzed, fucked off nothing but their skin and their words and the way they look at him.

He jerks himself slowly, head tilted up a bit, neck exposed. Zayn's gaze is trained on the way his hand slowly moves up and down his cock, grip tight, thumb sliding over the head every once in a while. He pushes his own palm down on his crotch and moves, trying to get more comfortable, but he can't. His skin feels too tight as Liam starts going faster, stomach tightening, breath held, body arching.

"Zayn," he moans, and that's all Zayn can take. He's like an elastic band; you can only stretch him so thinly before he snaps, and he's snapped.

He pulls off his shirt and kicks off his shoes as he moves towards the bed, and he only stops long enough to unbutton his jeans with fumbling, shaking hands. Liam slowly bats open his eyes, a grin spreading onto his lips. "Knew you couldn't last that long," he says, unwrapping his fingers from around himself.

Zayn shakes his head, crawling up the bed until he's between Liam's legs. "Don't stop."

Liam's eyes widen. "What? Don't you—"

He kisses he inside of one of Liam's thighs. "Don't stop," he repeats, firmer. "Keep going."

This time there's a moment of hesitation before Liam grabs himself, but he eventually does, eyes trained on Zayn. Zayn switches between watching his face and watching his hand as he continues to kiss Liam's thigh, sucking on the skin occasional. Liam groans when he does, eyes squeezing closed every once in a while, like he can't keep looking at Zayn between his legs without breaking.

Liam's hand stutters in its movements when Zayn nips at his sensitive skin and uses the hand not holding himself up to massage Liam's balls. He slides a finger a little lower, moving it down just enough before he's pressing it against Liam's hole. Not enough pressure to do anything, just lightly teasing him. Liam fucking keens, hips pushing off the bed as he gasps.

Zayn blinks up at him, smirking without meaning to. He didn't expect that intense of a reaction, so he does it again, tracing the rim until Liam's grabbing at his shoulder, nails digging in painfully. "Get up here," he pleads. "Need you to. Just—  _Zayn_. Please."

Who could say no to that? He pushes himself, moving so he's got Liam's legs on either side of his body and their foreheads are almost touching. Liam lifts up to kiss him, like he can't wait for Zayn to bend his head down and breach that final inch between them. His hands claw at Zayn's back, and the sharp pain of it has him hissing and grinding down against Liam.

"Fuck, babe," he groans against Liam's lips. "You're incredible."

"Stop talking," Liam urges, trying to move up against him, get that perfect friction between them again. "Just — come  _on_."

"Tell me," Zayn urges. "Tell me what you want."

Liam glares up at him, but he doesn't push Zayn back down against the bed and crawl on top of him, the way he easily could. Just like last time, he's giving himself over to Zayn again, even though he's still writhing underneath Zayn and trying to get what he wants. "I'd like to get off," he says. "Stop teasing."

Zayn chuckles and nips at his jaw. "Demanding," he scolds.

"Really fucking horny," Liam corrects. He swears a lot more during than he does normally. "Don't make me beg for it again, Zayn."

Zayn grins against his skin and ignores his own need, distracting himself by peppering Liam's neck in kisses. There's a small, fading mark there, and he sucks at it, hard enough that when he pulls back the skin is glistening with spit and is a deep, almost purple red.

" _Please_ ," Liam snaps.

He grinds down against Liam again, cocks sliding together just right, Liam's groan spurring him on. Liam ruts up against him, legs locking behind Zayn's back, and he'd planned to get a hand around the both of them, jerk them off until they were both satisfied, but he's already so close, pushed to the edge every time he remembers how Liam had looked spread out with a hand around himself, and he can feel Liam's precome smearing against his hip. He figures they could both come like this pretty easily, Liam grabbing at his back and desperately whining for it.

And he's right. Zayn's name is like a chant on Liam's lips just before he comes, and he knows there's going to be angry red marks on his back tomorrow from Liam's nails. He drops a kiss to Liam's lips, and Liam kisses him for a moment before he sucks in a sharp breath and holds it, tensing underneath him. His whole body shudders, and Zayn can feel his come between both of their stomachs. It doesn't bother him as he continues to grind down against Liam, the friction from both of their bodies almost enough,  _almost._

Someone knocks at the door. Zayn is ready to commit murder. He's so fucking close, so desperate to find release, and someone's knocking at the fucking door.

"Tell them to go away," Liam suggests.

But they knock again. He pushes himself up, and Liam takes advantage of that by wrapping his hand around Zayn's prick. "We're— sleeping," Zayn gets out. It's so obvious what they're doing, his voice breathless and soft.

Liam looks up at him, going faster, tightening his grip. "Come on, babe," he urges.

"I don't care!" Louis shouts from the other side of the door.

Zayn doesn't either. He grips Liam's thighs tightly, fingers curling, and Liam smiles up at him, all sunshine and warmth. Zayn takes a shuddering breath, thrusts up into Liam's hand, and Liam leans forward, lips wrapping around just the tip of his cock as he continues to pump him quickly. That's all it takes, that warmth and wetness and perfect suction to loose himself. He leaves crescent shaped marks from his nails on Liam's thighs as he squeezes, tension in his body unfurling all at once.

His come leaves Liam's lips slick and shiny, and he can't figure out how Liam can be so angelically sinful. He's grinning up at Zayn with those damn eyes of his, and he's both the loveliest, purest, most sinful thing Zayn's ever seen in his entire fucking life, all at the same time.

He doorknob jiggles and Zayn remembers who he is again. He swears under his breath and kisses Liam gently before climbing off the bed. He tugs on his boxers so quickly he nearly rips them, and then he stomps towards the door and throws it open, trying to kill Louis with nothing but his glare. " _What_?"

Louis looks startled, but he instantly schools that and grins. "I was just…." he trails off, eyes on Zayn's stomach. Liam's come is drying there and, yeah, he needs to clean that up. "Oh my  _god_ , is that—? Oh, fucking gross, it is."

Zayn goes to slam the door in his face, but Louis' pushing past him, into the room. Liam makes a startled sound and covers himself, twisting the blankets over his body.

"I don't even care," Louis says. "I'll be grossed out about this later. Right now, I need your help."

Zayn pinches the bridge of his nose and forces himself to breathe and  _not_  strangle Louis. "Can't you see we're a little busy?"

Louis looks between Zayn and Liam, who's practically hiding under the blankets now. "You look like you just finished being busy. And this can't wait so, you know, chip chop. Get dressed, clean up, you've got five minutes."

Liam gives him a hopeless look. Zayn sighs deeply. He knows Louis, and he knows that unless he gets Liam to, like, physically remove him from the room, Louis isn't going anywhere. "Can you at least close your eyes while Liam gets out of bed?"

"You've got come drying on your stomach and you're trying to preserve his modesty? Really? That boat set sail, sunk, and they made an entire movie about it already. But fine." He closes his eyes, covers them with his hands, and turns. "Go on."

Liam hurries out of bed, blankets draped around his shoulders. He locates all his clothes, and Zayn's, and ducks into the bathroom. Zayn follows him.

"I'm just gonna — stay in here, I think," Liam says when they're dressed.

Zayn grimaces. "I'm really, really sorry," he says. "Really."

"It's fine," Liam assures him. "I just like to avoid uncomfortable situations. So I'm gonna, like I said, stay in here."

Zayn kisses his forehead. "Okay."

Louis is sitting in the chair when he gets out, probably to avoid sitting on the bed because he knows what they just did there. Zayn glares at him and folds his arms over his chest, borrowing Liam's signature move. "What could you possibly need that couldn't wait until later?"

Louis ducks his head. "It's about Harry."

If that was supposed to make Zayn  _less_  angry, then he failed. "I'm so sick of you two," Zayn grinds out. Anger bubbles up inside him. Louis ruined what could have been a perfectly blissful moment with Liam, post-orgasm. All because of him and Harry's stupid fucking avoidance of their feelings. "Can't you just—"

"That's why I'm  _here_ ," Louis snaps. "Okay? Because I'm fucking stupidly in love with my best friend! And I can't  _stand it_  anymore! It's driving me  _crazy_! And I need your fucking help because he won't even talk to me!"

Zayn takes a step back, stunned. "Did you— Can you repeat that? I couldn't have heard that right."

Louis stands up, eyes narrowed. "You think it's funny? Because I'm going out of my fucking mind about this whole thing, and I came here because I thought you would  _help_ , but never mind. Obviously you won't. Whatever. I'll leave you alone." He stomps towards the door, eyes never meeting Zayn's

Zayn grabs his arm. "Louis," he says softly. "Hey, I'm sorry, okay? I'll help. If you're serious, I'll help. However I can."

Louis looks up at him. He looks so young, in that moment, blue eyes watery, a stiff set to his jaw, defiant, almost like a child that's trying really hard not to cry. "No laughing at me, though," he says. "It's not funny. It's the farthest from funny that anything has ever been."

Zayn groans. "You can't tell me not to laugh at you and then say dramatic shit like that."

Louis punches him. In the shoulders, yes, but it still hurts. "Fucker," he says. "Insensitive bastard."

"Do you want my help or not?"

Louis nods. "Need it, actually." He moves around Zayn once again, goes to sit on the bed, but he seems to think the better of it. He settles for just standing in the middle of the room, arms hugging his middle. "I need to do something," he explains. "I need to — something big. Something ridiculously romantic. You know how he is, he likes that cheesy bullshit. I need to — to find a way to tell him that I'm sorry. That he's the most important thing to ever happen to me. And I don't know how. I don't know how to be serious about something like this because I've never been serious about anyone before, but I am about him. I'm serious about him."

Zayn raises his eyebrows, impressed. "You could always try just saying that to him."

"No." He shoots that down instantly. "That's not enough. We've fucked this up too badly. It has to be better than that."

Liam comes out of the bathroom. He looks a little sheepish and embarrassed, but he says confidently, "I might have an idea."

Louis turns to him and blurts, "I'm thinking about your dick." He looks back at Zayn. "Yours, too. Both of your dicks, actually. Touching. It's all I can think about really. It keeps playing in my mind and I think I'm going to throw up. I wish I never knocked on your door. I don't think I'll ever get this out of my head and you're like my brother so it's—"

" _Louis_." He's pretty sure that Louis doesn't need their help. What he needs is therapy.

"Right, sorry. What's your idea, Liam?"

"I've watched every one of your shows," Liam states. "And you guys always do that thing where you answer questions from Twitter, right?"

"Right," Louis says slowly, nodding.

"So rig it," Liam says. "Make sure your tweet comes up. It doesn't have to be anything big. Just a simple 'I love you, Harry, go out with me', even. It's a big gesture, in front of thousands. And if he still hates you after that, you can just pretend that it was a prank that Zayn and the others pulled on you. No risk, possible reward."

"That's… actually brilliant," Louis says, sounding surprised. "Zayn, you've been keeping him from us. That's not fair. You should share."

Zayn crosses the room and puts an arm around Liam's waist, nudging his nose against Liam's neck. "No," he says. "Not sharing."

Louis makes a vomiting sound. "That's all I can stomach. I'm gonna go. Thank you, Liam. Zayn — you weren't really any help but you were there for me emotionally so thank you, too. And don't forget to use a condom! Safe sex is good sex!"

When he's gone, Liam laughs and puts a finger under his chin, tilting it up just a bit. Not that he needs to. They're almost the exact same height, lips nearly at the right level naturally. Once again, like they were meant for this. "I was looking forward to some naked cuddling before he came to the door," he says.

Zayn grins. "Then why do you still have your clothes on?"

—

Zayn keeps waiting for it. Every show, he stands just off stage with Liam, watching the band perform. And every show, Louis jogs off the stage with a sheepish shrug, and later he'll say "It just wasn't the right timing."

It's not the only thing Zayn's waiting for. He's also waiting for the chewing out from Eleanor, or someone else on his management team. He's waiting for Liam to come into his room any day and say, "So, I'm sort of fired for that photo shoot thing." Because he could get in that much trouble for it. Especially if someone looked close enough at the pictures, realized what was really between them. He knows he would never be forbidden to date Liam, knows that they'd let him see whoever he wants, but Liam would without a doubt lose his job. And would he be able to find another one? Would anyone want to hire him after the scandal where he dated his last employer? And even if they did, what if it was someone like Zayn? What if he was dragged across the country with someone else, barely having any time to see Zayn?

The phone call never comes, though. And Eleanor has the extra pictures from the photo shoot delivered to him without comment. That doesn't make his anxiety any easier. It makes it worse, actually, because why  _aren't_ they calling and at least chewing him out? Why haven't they said  _anything_  about it? What's going on?

It never happens. They finish this leg of the tour without a hitch. Unless you consider the way Harry continues to ignore Louis a hitch, but at least Louis isn't snapping at him right back. In fact, he's taken to watching after Harry like a lovesick puppy. Zayn would make fun of him for it if he didn't feel so bad for him.

And before Zayn knows it, he's pushing open the door to his flat. The air is stale, and it feels so unlived in, even if he knows it hasn't been empty the whole time. Cleaners should have been in here a few days ago to make sure it was ready for him when he got back, but still. There might not be dust on any surfaces, but there's still a coldness to the whole flat. And it's so  _quiet_. He's not used to quiet anymore. How could he be, when he spends almost every night on stage? And when he's  _not_  on stage, he's with the other boys, and you can't find silence around Niall and Louis. And he hasn't fallen asleep without Liam with him in weeks, and Liam snores, so there's literally always sound.

Now, the only thing he can hear is the change in his pocket jiggling and his footsteps against the hardwood floor. It creeps him out, honestly. It feels like he's an intruder in someone else's home. Like he's broken in and is sneaking around, trying not to get caught. So he goes straight to the TV and turns it on, letting the rerun episode of Misfits play in the background to make it feel more like he actually lives here.

He drop his suitcase on the floor by his bed, and then he sits on it. The one good thing about being home is his own bed. Nothing ever compares to it. Not even the comfortable, barely used mattresses at fancy hotels come close to the comfort of a bed that smells like him. That's covered with the deep brown comforter he'd bought years ago and had never replaced because it was perfectly warm and fluffy and when he drops his arms on top of it the feathers inside all move around and make a loud sound. His pillows, too, can't be replicated. Worn down from being used, half of them nearly completely flattened at this point.

That's how he stays for the next three hours, curled up in his bed, comforter hastily pulled over top of him. He didn't realize how tired he was until he'd closed his eyes, and he's been slipping in and out of consciousness ever since.

But he can't  _sleep_. He might drift off for a bit, but then he wakes back up, finds himself uncomfortable, and rolls over to the other side of he far too big for one person bed. Eventually he gives up and crawls out of bed, running a hand through his now messed up hair. He pulls out his phone, turns it over in his hands as he walks back through the apartment, heading for the living room, and then he gives in and calls Liam.

He picks up on the second ring, happy and bright when he asks, "Zayn?"

"Hey," Zayn says as he falls onto the couch. "What are you doing right now?"

Liam yawns. "Trying to sleep, actually. It's only five in the afternoon but I'm exhausted. I haven't left my bed since I got home."

Zayn mutes the TV and drums his fingers on his knees. "Yeah, I did the same thing," he admits. "But I couldn't sleep."

Liam yawns again. "I know. Something's off. I keep—" Liam grunts and a ruffling sound fills the phone. "— waking up. I can't get comfortable. Might just miss that bed back in the tour bus a little bit."

Zayn absently chews the nail on his pinky finger, eyes on the TV screen, even if he isn't conscious of anything happening on it.

"You still there?"

Liam jerks him out of his thoughts, and Zayn nearly jumps at how loud his voice sounds on the other end of the phone. "Sorry," he says quickly. "I was just — Do you want to come over here? Stay the night, maybe?"

Silence. "I was sort of looking forward to sleeping in my own bed," Liam admits. "I'm not used to being gone for so long, you know?"

"Oh, right." Zayn nods, even if Liam can't see it. "Yeah, that's cool. I get it."

"I'm gonna let you go and try to get back to sleep," Liam says. "See you tomorrow, though, okay? And we're leaving on Tuesday, right, so we'll be together then, too. "

"Okay," Zayn says softly. "Bye."

As soon as he's hung up with Liam, he tilts his head back against the sofa and closes his eyes. He really is tired, something about knowing you can finally relax after weeks and weeks of constantly being on the go makes him exhausted. But he's too restless to sleep. He gets up, paces around the flat, like he's trying to familiarize himself with it again. He checks the fridge, finds it stocked with drinks and a few microwavable things in the freezer compartment, but nothing that sounds appetizing, even though his stomach is starting to growl.

He decides to shower, leaving his clothes on the floor of his room, walking naked through the flat because he  _can_. His shower is huge, big enough to fit about four people at a time, not that he's, like, tested that. Just like his bed, there's something about his own shower that's so comforting. The knowledge that he's the only person (except Harry, who's used it occasionally when he crashed in the guest bedroom) who's stood naked in this exact spot and washed away the dirt and grime of the day.

By the time he gets out of the shower he feels more normal. He pulls on his bathrobe instead of his clothes, can't be fussed to do much more. And then he falls into his bed again, omitting the covers, and closes his eyes.

—

He doesn't see Liam for four days. And he's okay with it, he really is, truly, honestly. The time apart is good for them, he thinks. Gives them some much needed space to sort out their thoughts and feelings, considering that they haven't been away from each other for more than an hour or two since they've started this whole thing.

He's not okay with it.

Zayn is accurately aware of how pathetic this is, though, so he acts like he's okay with it. With the fact that Liam is always quick to get off the phone with him, shoots down every suggestion for them to hang out with some sort of excuse and a promise of, "I'll see you Tuesday, when we leave for your parent's house."

So he's had Harry and Niall and Josh over almost every day. He tried to get Louis over, but Louis is always busy, too, and it's probably good not to have him and Harry together anyways. And it's nice, just hanging out with the three of them. When Josh and Niall decide to separate their mouths and actually join in the conversation, Niall always manages to pull Zayn out of his mind for a laugh. Josh is more perceptive than even Harry, and he pulled Zayn aside twice just to make sure he was okay. And Harry is almost as good as Liam to cuddle with, so Zayn spends a majority of the day with either his head or his feet in Harry's lap while they watch Lord of the Rings and then The Hobbit, pausing every half hour to explain to Niall what's going on because, "Wait, what does the ring actually do?" "Isn't that Sherlock's boyfriend?" "Yeah but didn't Dumbledore die last movie?" "I've watched this entire series like three times but I swear I've never seen this guy in my life. Which one is he again?"

On Tuesday he spends the morning packing and getting ready. They're renting a car and Liam's going to drive (Zayn still needs to get his licence, but he's still putting it off because the thought of driving still kinda freaks him out) the five and a half hours to Zayn's parent's house. If he's still coming. Zayn doesn't think he is.

Packing doesn't take all that long, though, and he's stuck sitting there on the couch, blowing through cigarette after cigarette as he waits for Liam to call him, or text him, or just show up. And it's irritating him. Not Liam, but his own reaction to Liam. The fact that he feels so ridiculous dependent on the guy when, six months ago, he didn't even know Liam Payne existed. How does someone worm their way so affectively into someone else's life so quickly?

That's not really the issue though, is it? He doesn't mind that Liam has crawled under his skin. He doesn't mind that Liam has pushed himself into every empty piece of his soul, filling in the gaps that he didn't even realize were there. It's the terrifying realization that he would be so, completely lost if Liam decided to remove himself from those spaces. Because it's easy to go through life with missing pieces when you have no idea how it feels to be whole, but how do you go back to that when you know what it's like to be complete? He's not sure that he could, and that— that's what terrifies him.

Actually, that's a pretty fucking good analogy, he thinks, and he's about to get up and take his shoebox out of his suitcase so he can write that down, maybe use it at some point for something, a song or maybe he should start writing poetry. Fuck, Liam Payne has effectively turned him into the type of person that actually  _would_  write poetry about his feelings. Maybe it'd be a good thing if Liam  _didn't_  show up today. If he kept avoiding Zayn. If they stopped seeing each other and his life went back to normal. Or as normal as it ever really was.

Before he can get off the sofa, though, his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out, glances down at the screen, and grins.  _Outside in the car hurry up!_  he reads before stuffing his phone back in his pocket. He forces himself to calm the hell down and slowly make his way to the door, grabbing his suitcase as he goes. He's not going to act like some neglected golden retriever that gets all excited, tail wagging furiously when he sees Liam like they've been separated for five years. He's not.

The doorman — Loren, today— smiles and waves at him as he leaves, and Zayn can't refrain from returning the smile with one of his own as he spots the black rental car out front. Liam is waiting inside, and Zayn stuffs his suitcase in the backseat (beside Liam's) before jumping into the passenger seat, pulling his belt on quickly.

Liam is sitting ridged in the seat, fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel. Zayn doesn't know what to say. There's this restless energy inside him, and he isn't sure if he's ecstatic to be back with Liam or terrified. And Liam doesn't say anything, either. He just pulls away from Zayn's building, driving slowly through the afternoon traffic, calm as can be, not once looking in Zayn's direction.

He sinks lower and lower in his seat until they're out of town, and then he hesitantly asks, "Do you want to turn around? Go home? I can take the train, or something. You don't have to do this."

Liam winces but doesn't turn to him. His fingers flex on the wheel and he breathes deeply. "I want to," he says through gritted teeth.

Zayn snorts, annoyance replacing the nervousness in him. "Doesn't sound like it."

"I  _do_ ," Liam insists.

"Whatever," Zayn scoffs. "Avoid me for days and then act like I'm not even here when we're together, then."

Unbelievably, Liam's lips start twitching, and then he's full-out grinning, body shaking with held in laughter. "Is this our first fight?" he asks.

Zayn gapes at him. "Yeah, I think it is," he says, annoyed. "I don't see why you're laughing about it."

"I'm sorry," Liam laughs. He keeps laughing, too, almost sounding manic. "I'm so, so sorry. I thought it would help, a bit of separation, you know? Because our relationship isn't exactly normal, I think. We never had a pre-dating period. It's like — one minute I was Liam, and the next I was Zayn Malik's Boyfriend. And I was worried that maybe it was weird, how easy it was. The fact that we never fought, were never away from each other. So I tried to stay away from you and, trust me, it was the hardest fucking thing to do. I had to make Louis stay with me the whole time because I couldn't trust myself not to see you if he didn't."

Zayn's look of surprise morphs into one of complete confusion and, just a little, hurt. "You were avoiding me on purpose?"

Liam nods quickly. "Only because I thought it would  _help_. I thought maybe I could simmer down my feelings for you a little bit. Like, take a step back, revaluate the situation, sort out my feelings, but — nothing's changed. I still want to pull over and kiss you until your lips are red. I still want to hold your hand and touch you every second of every day. I still want you just as badly as I did before the break, only now I'm annoyed with myself for wasting time that I could have spent with you instead of  _not_."

A heavy weight settles on Zayn's chest, and he sounds choked when he struggles to get out, " _Liam_."

"I'm terribly in love with you," Liam blurts, eyes on the road. A car zooms past them, the sound of it heavy in the air, contrasting drastically with the silence that's fallen over the car. "I had to say it, I'm sorry. It's all I can think about. I'm in love with you." He frowns at himself, lips mouthing the words again. "In love with you," he repeats, like he's testing the words on his tongue, trying out how they sound. "Totally in love with you, Zayn Malik. It's almost a sickness."

The only thing Zayn can do is— stare at him. Liam keeps glancing away from the road to meet his eyes, and Zayn can't do anything else but look at him. And he can't breathe, in those moments when their eyes meet, because Liam means it. It's so clear in his expression and the soft honesty in his eyes. Liam is in love with him. And Zayn feels like crying. There's that pressure behind his eyes, and that familiar throbbing in his head. His fingers curl and uncurl of their own accord, and he feels — he feels to much, that's the problem. Overwhelmed, lost, drowning in emotions that refuse to let him surface, that threaten to suffocate and strangle him.

"You… don't feel the same way," Liam says slowly. "You're not saying it back. You don't — shit. I ruined it, didn't I? I totally jumped the gun there. It's too early, it's only been a handful of weeks, and I've completely fucking —"

"No, I do," Zayn says quickly. "Fuck, I do. I do. I love — In love with you. I'm in love with you. Fuck, Liam, I'm in love with you."

"Really?" Liam looks a little disbelieving. "You're not just saying it because I said it and you feel bad for me?"

Zayn shakes his head, letting out a laugh. "No, Liam, I'm not just saying it," he assures him. "But I'm a little pissed off that you decided to blurt it while we're on the highway, because I'd sort of like to kiss you right now."

"I couldn't hold it in any longer," Liam admits, a little sheepish. "I've nearly said it a hundred times. That's another reason why I thought it might be good for us to be apart a bit, you know, so I could figure out a way to stop from saying it to you every time you smiled, or laughed, or kissed me, or even just looked at me."

Zayn settles back into his seat, an almost awed look on his face because — yeah, he's fucking head over heels for Liam, and Liam feels the same way, and it shouldn't be that much of a surprise but it  _is_. "I love you," Zayn says, just because he can.

"I know," Liam teases. "You already said that."

"I'll say it a million times and it won't be any less true," Zayn says honestly. And maybe he just likes the way it sounds coming out of his mouth. Maybe he wants to say it over and over until it no longer sounds foreign, but falls effortlessly from his lips. Maybe he wants to say it until Liam really gets just how true it is.

They pull into a nearly deserted gas station the next town over, and Liam gets out while Zayn waits in the car. He comes back with drinks and a pack of Reese's for both of them, and he darts a look around before stealing a kiss. Zayn wishes they weren't in public. Wishes he could hear Liam say those words again under different circumstances, gasped against Zayn skin while they're both naked.

But Liam turns the radio on, and they roll down the windows, and it's just  _nice_. His and Liam's voices mingling, overpowering the music every time. Liam's hand on his thigh, and the cold air whipping past, cooling down the car without having to turn on the air conditioning. He closes his eyes and puts on his sunglasses, head tilted back against the seat while he pretends they're just a couple of teenagers going on a road trip before University. Exploring the world, stopping whenever they want and driving until they can't keep their eyes open. They'd make love in the backseat, and pull off into abandoned fields to lay on the hood of the car and gaze at the stars.

They stop again on the way, pulling into another random city that Zayn doesn't recognize by name. They pull up to a McDonald's drive-thru, and the girl working their looks like she's seen a ghost. He blinks and there's three of them, the camera's on their phone flashing as they shriek and jump around. Zayn signs a napkin for each of them and they finally hand over their food, and Liam laughs the entire time.

"Makes me feel better about myself," he explains when they drive away. "I'm not the only one crazy about you."

Zayn snorts at him and reaches for his food. Liam makes him feed him chips while he drives so he doesn't have to take his hands off the wheel, and Zayn purposefully smears ketchup on his chin. The drive feels like it takes twice as long as normal, but it also feels like it's flown by when they pass the sign leading into Zayn's hometown.

Up until this point, Liam has seemed completely calm the whole ride. It's as they drive into town that he starts looking nervous. He's constantly taking a hand off the wheel to wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans, and he's sitting rod-straight in the seat again, like he had when Zayn first got in the car. He's also chewing his lip and Zayn can practically see the thoughts flickering through his mind.

"What if they hate me?" he blurts.

"I'm pretty sure it's physically impossible to hate you," Zayn assures him. "They'll love you."

Liam glares at him. "You don't know that."

Zayn rolls his eyes. "Okay, fine. If they hate you then you can hide behind me, okay? I'll be your bodyguard for once."

Liam grins in spite of himself. "Really?"

"Sure." He flexes his arms. "I've been working out, you know."

That's all it takes for Liam to relax in his seat. Zayn gives him directions, Liam follows them, and when they pull up to the house he takes a shaking breath while parking the car. There's two other cars in the lot, his mum's SUV and his dad's Ford Falcon that probably can't even pass a safety test, it's so rusted, but he refuses to get a new one.

Liam leans forward in his seat, peaking out at the house. It's not the grandest house in the entire world, but it's nice. There's hedges surrounding the whole property for privacy, and it's three and a half floors, plus the basement (though the top floor doesn't span through the entire house, and the entire thing is just Waliyha's bedroom). The backyard is huge, and it still makes his heart hurt every time he looks at it.

The front door opens, and Liam jerks back in his seat. "I don't think I can do this," he says lowly, rushed, as Zayn's mum starts towards the car. He grabs Zayn's thigh tight enough to bruise. "I've never done this before, Zayn."

"You'll be fine," Zayn promises. He unbuckles his seatbelt just as his mother gets to the car and pulls open his door for him. He only just gets out of the car before she's hugging him like it's been years and years since they've last seen each other, not a few months. "I missed you, too," he chuckles.

"Oh, god," his mother cries. Literally, she's got tears pooling in her eyes, and it makes Zayn's own burn. "You keep growing. It's freaking me out." She rubs at her eyes. "I'm the mother of two kids in their twenties. I'm so  _old_."

"Mum," Zayn laughs, "you're not  _old_."

"Old enough," she grumbles, releasing him. "Now where is he? Where's the boyfriend?"

Liam's door opens, and it takes him much longer than usual to get out of the car. He stands there, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, eyes wide and terrified. Zayn wants to hug him, but his mum beats him too it, hurrying around to the other side of the vehicle.

"I'm so glad you could come," his mum says, as Liam awkwardly pats her back, looking a bit stunned. She pulls back and takes a good look at him. "I can see what's got my son so smitten."

Zayn flushes. " _Mum_."

She rolls her eyes at him and links her arm with Liam's. "Come on, leave your things in the car. We've got to show you off. And dinner will be done any minute, so I hope you're hungry. And I'll show you Zayn's room, and, oh, I've got home videos of him when he was just six years old, singing—"

Zayn hurries after them. "No, you don't," he says flatly.

His mother tugs Liam inside the house and completely ignores him. "— when he pulled the  _entire_  table cloth off, birthday cake and all falling to the floor. He was inconsolable for  _hours_."

Zayn groans and shuts the door behind them. His mum carts Liam into the kitchen first, frowning when she finds no one inside. Zayn kicks off his shoes and follows them to the living room, where his dad is sitting, watching sports. He only looks up for a second before returning his gaze to the screen. Then he does a doubletake and stands up abruptly.

Just like with his mum, the first thing his dad does is hug him. Then he turns to Liam, eyebrows raised. Liam quickly holds out his hand and says, "Nice to meet you, sir."

Zayn almost laughs at the way his father flexes when he takes Liam's hand, like he's trying to be intimidating. "Liam, right?"

"Yes, sir," Liam says.

His father grunts, eyes narrowing. "So you're the boy who's supposed to be protecting my son, then?"

Liam gives Zayn a nervous look. "Um, yes, I—"

"Oh be  _nice_ ," his mother scolds. "Honestly, he's so polite. Don't scare him off."

His father looks intimidating for only a second longer, and then he breaks out into a grin. "Yeah, alright," he says, patting Liam on the shoulder. "Nice to meet you as well, Liam."

A thin pair of arms wrap around him from behind, and Zayn turns as Safaa throws herself into his arms. She almost knocks him off his feet, and he doesn't remember her being this  _big_. It always feels like forever has past since he last seen his family, and he hates that. But he doesn't want to think about that right now, because right now all he wants is to live in this moment and enjoy it.

"Are you wearing make-up?" he asks, shocked.

She bats her eyes at him. "Mum said I could."

His father sighs, like he doesn't approve, but his mother only shrugs her shoulders and says, "What? It's her body. I'm not going to put restrictions on her. If she wants to wear makeup, than I'm not going to tell her she's not allowed. And it's only mascara and lip gloss, honestly."

"Is that Zayn?" Waliyha comes into the room, a grin on her face. She takes one look at Zayn and then very obviously checks out Liam. "Mum, can I get a bodyguard?"

"No," his dad says firmly. "Definitely not."

"Okay," Zayn says loudly, crossing the room to grab Liam's hand. "Can we stop treating my boyfriend like a zoo exhibit now?"

"Boyfriend?" Safaa asks. "You brought a bodyguard  _and_  a boyfriend? Where's everyone gonna sleep? We only have one guest room."

"Speaking of," his mum says. "You two should go get your bags and bring them to your room. I'll plate dinner. Don't take too long."

Zayn forcibly pulls Liam out of the room, dragging him along behind him. The door slams shut behind them on accident, but Zayn stop until they're at the car. He lets go of Liam's hand, and Liam goes to open the door but Zayn turns him back around, crowding him up against the car, hands splayed on either side of his body.

Liam still looks mildly shocked, like he had that day during the photo shoot. Like he hasn't quite figured out what just happened, and he's a little thrown off. "You good?" Zayn asks him.

Liam nods slowly. "Yeah. They're great, Zayn, they really are. I'm just a little intimidated."

"Don't be," Zayn says. "That was the worst of it, I promise. They've never done this before, either. I've never brought someone home before. Never cared or trusted someone enough to. They're just a little excited, I think, but things'll probably simmer down at dinner. And if not we can always go to bed early. Just give me a sign and I'll get you out of there."

Liam pushes him back a bit, eyebrows furrowed. "No, I'm not — I don't want that," he says. "I don't want you to rescue me from them. I want to get to know them. I want them to like me."

"But I thought—"

"It was just a lot to process at once," Liam explains. "Not in a  _bad_  way. Just give me, like, a minute or two to adjust and I'll be fine."

Zayn doesn't want to push him, though. Doesn't want to scare Liam off. Because he can only imagine how he would feel if the roles were reversed. He'd probably be out of his mind nervous. He'd probably handle it a lot worse than Liam, truthfully. He'd probably attach himself to Liam's side and threaten to kill him if Liam even considered leaving him alone for a single second.

"You're sure?"

"One hundred percent." Liam confirms. "Now come on, your mum said dinner was nearly ready. I don't want to hold everyone up."

Zayn can't resist kissing him, just a soft peck on the lips that Liam ends instantly, gently pushing him backwards. "What?" Zayn demands.

"What if they're looking out the window?" Liam hisses.

Zayn leans in again, and this time Liam doesn't even try to fight it. "Then let them look," he says lowly. "I haven't properly kissed you in days."

Liam groans, low and softly as he fists a hand in Zayn's shirt. "Too irresistible for your own good," he murmurs.

He forgets about where they are when his lips are moving against Liam's. Forgets that they're leaning against a car in front of his parent's house, and the fact that Liam was right and anyone could look out the window at any moment and see them. He forgets about their suitcases and the fact that dinner is probably on the table right now. All he can think about is how Liam tastes like Mountain Dew and kisses like the only way to get air into his lungs is to steal it from Zayn's.

When they pull apart her leans his forehead against Liam's for a moment, catching his breath. Until Liam asks, "Dinner?"

"We just ate, like, two hours ago," Zayn reminds him, shaking his head fondly.

Liam shrugs. "'m hungry, and it smelled really good."

Zayn doesn't get a chance to show Liam his room, since his mum carts Liam off to the kitchen as soon as they're inside, and she orders Zayn to bring their things up to the room. The room always feels weird to him. It's like a mixture of his childhood and his life now. There's all the furniture from when he was a kid, set up almost the exact same as it had been in their old house. But there's plain white comforter on the bed, and the side table isn't covered in empty Coke cans and candy wrappers. There aren't any posters on the walls, like their used to be, but there's a shelf with his comics stacked on it, as well as the Iron Man mask he'd gotten for his birthday one year, and the figurines that he'd collected since he was a child, and the miniature cars he used to think were so cool.

He drops both of their suitcases on the floor and heads back downstairs. He hears the TV running in the living room and figures his dad will stay there until his mum calls them all for dinner. Liam is still in the kitchen, and he finds them both by the stove, his mum stirring something, Liam nodding along to what she's saying.

"— plates while I dish out the food," she says. "Second cupboard, third shelf."

Liam obey immediately, and Zayn's mum looks up, meeting his eyes. She doesn't alert Liam to his presence, though. Liam holds out a plate, she dishes out food, and they continue on while his mum verses Liam on every embarrassing moment from his childhood. Zayn slips back out the door and heads to the living room.

"Shouldn't you be helping your mother with dinner?" his dad asks him, as he seats himself down on the other end of the sofa.

Zayn snorts. "I've been home less than half an hour and you're already putting me to work?" His dad grunts in response. "And she doesn't need my help. Liam's helping her."

That makes his dad smile. "Good."

Zayn plucks at his jeans, pulling the material off his knees before releasing it. They're almost too tight to do that. Almost. "Do you like him?"

His dad pulls his gaze away from the TV for only a moment before watching the game again. "He seems very polite," he says with a shrug. "You could do a lot worse." And that, coming from his dad, is like singing praise.

His mum calls them all for dinner not much later, and the six of them all pile in around the large dining room table. Liam's on his left, and his dad is on his right, and his sisters are both across from him. The food is great, as it always is, and it just feels so fucking  _normal_. The way Safaa irritates Waliyha; the way his father tells them both to stop and they ignore him until his mum cuts in, and then they both behave. The way Liam's foot brushes against his the whole time.

"So, Liam," his mother starts at some point. "What's it like being Zayn's bodyguard?"

Liam puts down his fork and takes a sip of his drink first. "Um, it's very difficult," he says with a grin. "Zayn's very high maintenance. Never met such a diva in my life."

Zayn pushes him, and Liam barely moves in his seat. "Liar."

"No, he's great," Liam retracts. "One of nicest people I've ever met. Not at all what I expected."

"I take full credit for that," his mum says. "I raised him."

"Thanks, mum."

"And I had no part in it, obviously," his father cuts in.

"The day you give birth, you can take the credit," his mother smirks. "Anyways, Liam, where are you from? Tell us about yourself."

"Why aren't you ever this nice when  _I_  bring boyfriends home?" Waliyha complains. "You're always 'No shutting the bedroom door!' 'Don't you dare defile my daughter's innocence you vile creature!' With him you're all 'Oh, Liam, you're so sweet!' 'Welcome to our home, can we adopt you?' No offence, Liam, because you are sweet, it's just totally unfair."

"When you're old enough to date, then we'll start adoring your boyfriends too," his mother says easily.

"When's that going to be?" Waliyha snaps.

His parents exchange a look and, at the same time, say, "When you're thirty."

Liam's hand slips onto his thigh under the table, and Zayn links their fingers together, squeezing in what he hopes is assurance. His mum goes back the interrogation, asking Liam about his family, and his home, and his plans for the future.

"I come from a fairly small town, actually," he admits. "I always figured I'd move back there eventually. When I've finished exploring the rest of the world, you know? When I've seen all I've needed to see, I'd go back, get a slower-paced job, live close to family. Now I'm not really sure."

"Well, anyone who says they're sure of the future is lying anyways," his mother says. "Girls, clear the dishes. Darling, could you get the dessert you made?"

"I'll help," Liam offers quickly, already standing up.

"We couldn't ask you to—"

"Mum, he  _offered_ ," Waliyha says, sitting firmly in her seat. "If he wants to help Safaa clear the dishes, don't be rude and tell him he can't."

It's late by the time his mum actually lets them get to bed. She insists on a movie with the family, where he and Liam sit on the loveseat, not curled up in each other the way they usually would because Liam's trying to be respectful or something. Waliyha bails halfway through, going upstairs to talk to her friends, and Safaa squeezes between them, leaving his parents on the couch. She falls asleep near the end, her arms around Liam, not Zayn, and Liam offers to carry her to bed.

Zayn follows them up the stairs, taking a picture of it as they go. It's just Safaa's sleeping face with her arms limply thrown over Liam's back, and the back of Liam's head. It's a little blurry, too, because they're moving. He doesn't care.

When the Safaa's door closes, Zayn crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall. "Do you realize how perfect you are?" he asks, and he sounds almost offended because he sort of is. It's really not fair. There's got to be a fault somewhere in Liam, but he's yet to find it.

Liam holds out his hand and Zayn takes it, only to be pulled into a tight embrace. Liam kisses his neck softly, sending shivers through his body. "Do you realize how in love with you I am?" he counters.

"My parents are probably waiting for us," Zayn warns, but he does nothing to push Liam away.

Liam bites at his neck. "Mhm."

"Weren't — weren't you the one who— wouldn't even kiss me because—"

Liam finally stops, a sigh passing his lips. He kisses Zayn's forehead and grabs his hand. "Bed soon anyways though, right? Then can I kiss you as much as I want?"

"If you  _must_."

—

He wakes up in the middle of the night, and he has no idea why. Liam's turned away from him, head buried under a pillow, and his entire front is pressed against Liam's back. He closes his eyes, breathes steadily, and tries to get back to sleep without waking Liam up. But his mouth is dry and he's fully awake, and he knows he's not getting back to sleep without a drink.

Quietly as he can, he climbs out of bed, making his way slowly across the room. He pulls open the door, slips out, and leaves it partially open behind himself so it doesn't make too much noise when he tries to close it.

The kitchen light is already on when he gets down there, and he finds his mum sitting at the coffee table, hair pulled up in a messy bun, yawning and sipping coffee while reading. She looks up when he walks in, rubbing at his eyes as he goes, and he waves sheepishly at her.

"Can't sleep?"

"Thirsty."

"Sit," she orders. "I'll get it for you. Coffee, juice, or water?"

He debates for a moment. He can smell her coffee, and that makes him want one, but he'd like to get back to bed with Liam soon, so he says, "Juice."

She pours it in a plastic cup and everything, like he's ten years old again and can't be trusted to use glass because he has a track record of always breaking them. He gulps half it down in one go, trying to quench his thirst, and ends up finishing the whole thing off in, like, seconds. His mum laughs at him before grabbing the whole carton from the fridge and placing it on the table.

"Liam still asleep?" she asks, as he pours himself a second glass.

Zayn smiles down at his glass. "Yeah. He's totally out. I think today took a lot out of him. He was pretty nervous."

"He shouldn't be," his mum says instantly.

"That's what I said."

She hums around her coffee cup, taking a long, slow sip. When she lowers it, she looks down for a while, a contemplative look on her face. One that Zayn's seen many times.

"Why are you even up?" he asks, realizing it's at least two in the morning.

"Oh, my friend Julie recently had a baby. She's completely lost over the whole thing. The baby sneezes and she's about ready to run it to the hospital. She called to ask me about something," she explains.

"Right."

She goes back to looking down at her coffee, and he goes back to sipping his juice and yawning periodically. He's tired, could go back to sleep, but he doesn't want to stand up just yet. Maybe in a minute. He needs to work himself up to actually moving.

"You're very in love with him, aren't you?" his mum asks, catching him off guard.

Zayn shifts in his seat a bit, eyes downcast. "Yeah."

His mum lays her hand on top of his own, giving it a squeeze. "I know. It's very obvious."

"Do you… do you approve? Like—"

She laughs, cutting him off. "Do I approve? He looks at you like you light up his entire world, Zayn. He could have four heads and I'd approve."

Zayn grins at her. "Good, because I don't know what I'd do if you said no. I'm in over my head already."

Her happy expression falls a bit. "Which is why I don't understand why you're hiding it."

Of course this is where this conversation was headed. He should have known. She's never approved of his job forcing him to be someone less than who he really is. And hiding his relationship with Liam does that. Because it's become such a big part of him even in this short period of time, that it's like he's holding back half of himself. "We have to," he says slowly. "His job—"

"Why can't he be your bodyguard and your boyfriend?" she demands. "If anything, I think your relationship would make him _better_  at his job."

Zayn pinches the bridge of his nose. "Because, mum, people—"

"I think," she says firmly, cutting him off once again, "that when you make something this important to you into a dirty secret, it's only a matter of time before it truly becomes one. And I think that if anyone tries to tell you how to feel, or who you should love, that you should tell them to fuck off."

Zayn blinks at her, astonished. She doesn't swear often, his mother. He can't remember her ever doing it through his childhood, and even now, as an adult, it sounds weird hearing something like that come out of her mouth.

"And I know you," she continues, "and I know what kind of person you are. Hiding this is only going to hurt you in the long run. And I always taught you to be true to who you are."

"Yeah," he says, because she did. "I know."

"So then tell the world. Tell everyone who will listen to you. Not everyone gets something like this, do you realize? Not everyone meets someone who fits them perfectly. Not everyone truly gets to feel what it's like to be in love and have that person be in love with you right back. Something like that — you don't hide something like that. You shout about it from the rooftops, darling."

There's that heavy weight on his chest again. And he knows that she's right. "I'll try to figure it out," he says through a yawn.

"You do that. But for now, go back to bed. You look about ready to pass out at the table."

He nods and goes to clean up his cup and the juice carton, but his mum waves him off with a kiss on the forehead and a firm, "Go to  _bed_."

So he does, stumbling up the stairs and gripping the railing tightly. Liam is awake when he gets inside, eyes meeting his, face illuminated by the dim hallway light when Zayn pushes open the door. He shuts it behind himself and makes his way through he room in the dark, climbing back in beside Liam. "Sorry if I woke you," he adds.

"Don't worry about it," Liam yawns. "Just — couldn't — sorry, I keep yawning. I rolled over and you weren't here, and it woke me up. But it's not your fault."

Zayn settles in against Liam's side, head resting on his chest. Liam's arm is around his back, and he slowly runs his hands up and down it, tracing Zayn's spine with just his fingertips occasionally. "Do you think there's a chance they  _wouldn't_  fire you?" he asks, voice barely audible, words mumbled against Liam's t-shirt clad chest. "I mean, do you think there's a chance that maybe — that maybe we could be together and not have to hide it  _and_  keep our lives the way they are right now?"

Liam hesitates, Zayn can tell. "I'm not sure," he admits. "How many good things is one person really allowed to have before the universe starts balancing it out with bad things?"

Zayn closes his eyes and nods his agreement, chin digging into Liam's chest. "Yeah, I know. I just — I want to be able to hold your hand whenever I want. And I want to go to interviews and have them ask me a million questions about my incredibly fit boyfriend. I want people to mash our names together and put us on hottest couples lists. I want everyone to know that I love you."

Liam laughs quietly. "Sappy, sappy man you are, Zayn Malik," he says. "But alright."

"Alright?"

"Tell everyone," Liam elaborates. "I'm not stopping you."

"But—"

"The worst that happens is I get fired," Liam says. "Big deal. The money's not  _that great_ , Zayn. I could always find another job. It wouldn't be the end of the world."

"Yeah, but—"

"And best case scenario is I get to keep my job and you," Liam continues, ignoring him. "Risk versus reward. I'm not risking all that much, and the possible reward outweighs anything else. And I'd like to be able to kiss you in public."

Zayn chews his lip. "But, like, you're the one compromising. I hate that. I hate that I have nothing to lose, but you do. It's not fair."

Liam's arm tightens around him, and he pulls Zayn over so he's practically laying completely on top of Liam. "I don't mind, really. As long as I've got you I can live with the rest."

"You're sure?"

"Sure about you," Liam answers. "And that's all that matters."

"Who's sappy now?" Zayn teases.

"Both of us."

Zayn laughs. "Fair enough." He kisses Liam's cheek. "Goodnight, Liam."

"G'night."

—

The week spent with his parents is one of the best in his life. He spends most of the day with his mum, catching up, helping her with chores, going to the grocery store with her occasionally. And he spends the nights on the sofa, watching sports with his dad or movies with the whole family. At night he sleeps with his arms around Liam, or Liam's arms around him. Once, he woke up and Liam wasn't there, and he'd padded confusedly down the stairs to find Liam in the kitchen, cooking breakfast with Safaa while his mum watched them fondly from the table.

It can't last forever, though he wishes it could. Wishes they had nothing to get back to, that they could stay there forever. But the days left dwindle down to nothing, and he and Liam pack up their stuff and then it's time for the goodbyes.

It's horrible. There's snotty-crying all around from everyone but Liam and his dad. His mum looks like she's literally about to kidnap them both and never let them leave. And Zayn wishes she would.

"Call more often," she says when she hugs him goodbye. "Once an hour, or I'll ground you."

Zayn laughs despite the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes. "Yeah, okay."

"And  _you_ ," she says to Liam, releasing Zayn so she can wrap her arms around him instead. "You come by whenever you want, understood? And you take good care of my baby."

Liam nods. "I will. I promise."

She pats his cheek. "I know you will. You're a good one, Liam. Now go, both of you, before I tie you down and keep you here forever."

Liam takes their bags and puts them in the car, and Zayn hugs the rest of his family. Just before he's about to join Liam in the car, his mum tugs him back into another hug and hisses in his ear, "I better be the first one you call when you two get engaged, okay? If I find out from some magazine I'll skin you alive. Got it?"

Zayn jerks back, eyes wide, heart hammering in his chest.

"Have a safe trip, darling!" she says happily, pushing him towards the car. "Call me when you get home so I know you're both safe."

"I— right," Zayn says, dazed. He slowly makes his way into the car, too shocked to do much else. He climbs in, Liam rolls down the window, and he waves as they pull away. Zayn can't do much more than pull his seatbelt on with fumbling hands.

Engaged.  _Engaged_. Like, to be married. His mum thinks that — that he and Liam will— and— He's never thought about marriage in his life. Ever. Some people have that vaguely planned out future, where they figure they'll get married, have kids, settle down. Zayn's never had that. It's not that he's adverse to marriage, it's just that he's never, like, thought about it before in relation to himself.

Marriage. It's so  _permanent._  Well, no, not always, but he can't imagine himself ever getting a divorce. If he were ever to get married, he can't see himself doing it with someone he'd ever want to be apart from. But it's — the rest of your  _life_  with  _one person_. That kind of commitment freaks him out. How do you promise that to someone? How do you promise that to your _self_? That you'll still be content with that person thirty years from now? Fuck, he can't figure out what to have for breakfast most days, let alone even think about committing to someone for the rest of his life.

But she said it like it was a sure thing. Like it was something that was inevitably going to happen, not something that  _might_  happen.

"You'll see them again soon," Liam says, pulling him out of his thoughts. He's got one hand on the wheel, one on Zayn's leg, and he looks concerned.

And he thinks that it's because Zayn's leaving his family, his silent brooding. It normally would be, and soon enough he's sure he'll fall into that short bout of depression he always does after visits, where he curls up in bed and spends all his time missing them. Right now, he's a little too busy freaking the fuck out.

"I know," he says, sounding strangled. "I'll be fine."

"Do you want me to pull over?" Liam suggest, grinning brightly. "Have a quickie in the backseat to take your mind off things?"

He can't help but laugh at that, despite the turmoil going on inside him. "Is that really an option?"

"No," Liam says regretfully. "But I could go down on you when we get home?"

Zayn reaches for the radio dial, just for something to do. "Are you coming over to mine for a bit, then, or are you going to avoid me for days like last time?"

Liam pouts at him. "You know why I did that," he reminds Zayn. "And I'll come over, if you want."

"I want." He smirks, pushing all uncomfortable or painful thoughts from his mind, forcing himself to just enjoy this right now. "I'll give you a proper tour of the flat. You should see my shower; it's huge."

"Is this your way of trying to get me to shower with you?"

Zayn smirks and looks out the window. "No. My way of getting you to shower with me would be to hold you down when we get home until we're both sweaty and covered in come and you had no choice  _but_  to shower with me."

For just a second, the car swerves a bit to the left. Liam lets out a cough and flushes red. Zayn keeps smirking at him, everything else forgotten for the time being. He cranks the music, some Justin Timberlake song from his new CD that Liam had brought with them. "I look around and all I see is beautiful, 'cause all I see is you," Liam hums under his breath.

After the song is over, Zayn turns the music back down. "You excited to fly out in two days?" he asks.

Liam looks over at him for just a moment and lifts one of his shoulders in a shrug. "I don't know. I've never flown before. Not sure how I feel about it."

Zayn gapes at him. "Never?"

"Nope." He shrugs again. "I'm sure it'll be fine, though. I'll probably get to sit next to Louis, or maybe Joe from security, I like him…."

"No way," Zayn says, cutting him off. "You're sitting next to me."

Liam scoffs. "You going to start flying coach?"

"No, you'll fly first class with me," Zayn says simply.

Liam gives him a blank look. "My ticket's already paid for by you— or whoever it is that pays my checks. I can't afford to just buy a first class plane ticket, Zayn," he says patiently.

"Do you really think I'd make you pay?" Zayn asks, since Liam obviously doesn't get that Zayn would do anything for him, almost, at this point. And fishing out a tiny sum of money for plane tickets isn't going to come near breaking the bank for him.

"No," Liam says flatly.

"Why not?" Zayn demands.

Liam rolls his eyes. "Because, for one, it's not necessary. For another, I don't want you spending money on me."

Zayn ignores him and pulls out his phone. Liam frowns at him as he presses a few buttons, and then he's bringing it up to his ear and saying, "I'll just give El a ring right now and tell her to switch your ticket for a first class one."

"Don't you dare," Liam says forcefully, but he can't really do anything, given the fact that he's got to focus on not crashing them into the car in front of them.

The phone rings once, twice, three times, and on the forth ring Eleanor picks up with a slightly flustered, "Hello? Zayn?"

"Yeah," he says, ignoring Liam's furious look. "I was calling to ask about the flight on Monday."

Eleanor's quiet for a moment. "What's wrong? You're not looking to book a later one, are you? Because the entire schedule is planned out, and you don't really have time to—"

"No, it's not that," he says quickly, since she sounds stressed out and panicked. "It's about Liam's ticket, actually."

"Oh." He hears her let out a sigh of relief. "What about it?"

"Could you make it so he's sitting with me in first class instead?"

Once again, the other end of the line goes quiet. "You want me to fly your security first class?" she asks, slow and careful.

"Just Liam," he corrects. "And I'll pay for it myself, if I have to."

"That's not the issue," she says, clipped and sharp. "Don't think we've forgotten about that photo shoot the two of you did. Quite the controversy you've created. Are you aware of this? That people are starting to think things, Zayn? And frankly, I'm starting to think them as well."

Zayn covers the mouth piece of the phone and looks at Liam. "Remember when you said you'd be okay with us telling everyone?" he asks. Liam nods. "You still sure about that?"

Liam chews his lip, and Zayn almost thinks he's about to say no when he says, "I'm sure."

After taking a deep breath, Zayn uncovers the phone and says to Eleanor, "About that…."

—

He's got the window seat, but he makes Liam switch with him before they settle in. Liam is still looking around in interest, taking everything in. Zayn's seen it all before, and he's been on nicer planes, honestly. At least his and Liam's seats are so close. He's been on flights where there's entire walls of separation between each seat, but this isn't the case today, at least. Their seats are directly beside each other, only a small separation between them. There's enough room between the seats in front of them and behind them for them to recline their chairs far back, too. He takes advantage of that by hitting the button to release the footrest, pulls on the belt, and tries to get comfortable. An eleven hour flight is not something he's looking forward to, even in the cushy, spacious first class seats.

"It's different than I thought," Liam admits as he gets into his own seat. He sits straight up in his seat, still looking around. "It's so  _big_."

Zayn puts his arms behind his head, the picture of comfort. "The perks of first class, babe. You'd be stuffed in like sardines in coach."

Liam's eyes narrow. "Thank you for reminding me that I'm still not talking to you because of that."

That's only  _half_  true. His conversation with Eleanor had gone much better than expected. She'd admitted to already having a feeling about his relationship with Liam, and she actually said that it might be  _good_  for his publicity. "Everybody loves a scandal," she'd said. Zayn hadn't cared about that. He wanted to get to the point and said as much, and she'd said that it might not be the best for Liam to continue on as his personal bodyguard. And Zayn had thrown a fit.

A tiny, little fit, but still. He hadn't went  _full-out_  bratty popstar, but he'd went a little more overboard than he normally does. He doesn't regret it, though. Not when Liam's beside him right now, not jobless. But Liam's still upset at him about the whole flight thing. As soon as they'd gotten over the initial elation at the fact that they didn't have to hide anymore  _and_  Liam wasn't getting fired, Liam had taken a vow of silence. That lasted about fifteen minutes until he broke.

That's how it's been for the last three days. Periodically Liam will remember that he's upset with Zayn, and he'll go minutes ignoring him until Zayn kisses him, or tickles him, or makes a joke. At which point Liam will huff and try to look upset while half-smiling, claiming "Your ridiculous lips can't fix every problem, Zayn." But apparently they could, because it always got Liam to forget about the fact that he was angry.

Now, Zayn reaches for Liam's hand and widens his eyes in what is probably a not very good rendition of Liam's puppy-dog look that he sometimes does (that cracks Zayn nearly every damn time, truth be told). "No being angry on the plane," he says.

Liam refuses to hold his hand as he settles into his own seat. "You wouldn't even know if I were angry if I were in coach, where I should be right now."

Before Zayn can argue this again (he really doesn't understand what the big deal is), a flight attendant comes over to them. "Is there anything I can get for either of you before we take off?" she asks. "Also, I would like to inform you that, since your flight will be fairly long, your seats do convert into beds, and if you'd like you can request myself or another steward to help you with this. There's also a separation screen between your seats, if you require more privacy."

"How do I work the screen?" Liam asks, pointedly glaring at Zayn.

"Oh, it's very easy." The stewardess quickly moves to help him, and then there's this thick piece of plastic separating he and Liam almost completely. The stewardess is on Zayn's side of the screen, and she smiles at him before asking again, "Now, is there anything I can get either of you?"

"I'm good," he mumbles, arms crosses petulantly over his chest. "Actually, wait, could I get a pillow and blanket? I think I'd just like to sleep through this."

"Of course," she says, so damn perky and pleasant it's almost irritating. "Though I can't allow you to turn your seat into a bed until after take-off. Sorry."

"It's fine," Zayn says, waving her off. "I'll wait."

She ducks her head around to Liam's screen. "And anything for you?"

"No, I'm good," he hears Liam say. "Thank you, though."

When she's gone, Zayn glares at the stupid screen separating them, but he refuses to crack first. He can see Liam's legs, but that's it, and it's irritating him to no end, but if Liam wants to sulk and be a child then he can. Zayn isn't going to beg him to stop.

Until they're all told to be ready for take off. He hits the screen button on his own side, but nothing happens. "Liam, put the fucking screen down," he orders.

Very slowly, the plastic thing disappears back between their seats. Liam smiles tightly at him. "Yes?"

Zayn reaches over and grabs his hand. "We're about to take off," he explains. "I don't want you getting scared on your first flight."

"I'm not scared," Liam says easily, but he doesn't pull his hand away. "I'm excited, actually."

"Oh." He frowns at himself. "That makes one of us, at least."

Liam looks at him curiously, the barely repressed annoyance on his face slipping away. "You're afraid of flying?" he asks softly.

Zayn glares at the seat in front of him. "Maybe."

Again, they're told that they're about to take-off. Zayn tightens his grip on Liam's hand, noticing that his own fingers are shaking. He can't help it. He's flown so many times, and it never gets any easier. He just doesn't  _like it_ , okay? What's there to like about it? Flying doesn't even make  _sense_. Planes are fucking  _huge_  and  _heavy_  and somehow they just — like, float in the fucking air. How does that even work? And who's to say they won't plunge to their death at any second? You never know. It happens all the time, actually, plane crashes. It's a totally reasonable fear.

"Zayn." Liam's voice is soft, barely audible. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it's dumb," Zayn mutters. "It's stupid, okay? I know it is. I just can't help it."

"It's not stupid," Liam says. "Lots of people are afraid of flying."

"Yeah, I know." He groans at himself. "It's just a bit ridiculous, though. I fly all the time. I should be used to it by now, but —" He cuts off, eyes squeezing closed as they start moving. He can feel it, the movement underneath him. His heart starts hammering in his chest. "Oh, God, I want off. Liam, I — can we just — get someone to stop the plane and get me off, okay? I want off, I—"

Liam squeezes his hand so hard it hurts. He flinches, eyes popping open. Liam turns as much as he can in his seat and reaches up to fist a hand in Zayn's hair. It  _hurts_ , actually, but Liam doesn't seem to care. Maybe the pain is the point. "You're okay," Liam says lowly. "You're fine, Zayn. I'm right here. Nothing's going to happen to you."

Zayn takes a gasping breath. "You can't protect me from a plane crash, Liam."

"Watch me." A hysterical sounding laugh comes out of his mouth in response to that, and Liam lets up on his hair a bit, but he pulls Zayn in close to him and leans so they're almost kissing. "I mean it. You've got nothing to worry about as long as I'm right here, okay?"

Zayn nods slowly, thinking about nothing but Liam's eyes (always so warm, endlessly brown and wide and honest) and his lips (pink, full, so fucking kissable all the time) and his stubble covered jaw (sharp and gorgeous) and his hand clenching Zayn's (strong, thick fingers). He remembers how to breathe while looking at Liam.

Eventually the plane ride smoothes out, and Liam leans back in his seat as the sound of people unbuckling their seatbelts softly sounds through the plane. Zayn keeps his on.

"Thank you," he says to Liam. "For — you know."

Liam looks out the small window and shrugs. "I just didn't want to pick up a magazine tomorrow and read 'Diva Zayn Malik delays entire plane by forcing the captain to stop the flight seconds before they were in the air,'" he teases.

Zayn makes a face at him for it. "Not funny, Liam."

"It wasn't," Liam agrees. "I'm sorry. And I hate seeing you like that."

Zayn turns his head. "Let's not talk about it, then."

"Deal. But what exactly do we do during an eleven hour flight?"

Zayn raises his eyebrows and waves down a flight attendant. "We sleep."

Or that's what Zayn does for the first three hours. Liam sits awake, reading one of the comics he'd brought with him with his seat reclined the way Zayn's is. And Zayn sleeps soundly while holding Liam's freehand, until his stomach drops and he bolts upright. Over the loudspeaker he hears, "We're just experiencing a bit of turbulence. Everything is fine, but we encourage everyone to please stay in your seats. If you—"

"Oh, God," Zayn moans. "Oh my God. Fuck. Liam, Liam—"

Liam grabs his hand again, and Zayn realizes he's the only one panicking. Or he doesn't hear anyone else panicking, though he does hear one person's annoyed, "Ugh, can I get a napkin, please? My drink spilled everywhere."

"How are you not freaking out?" he hisses at Liam. "This is your first time flying and —  _oh shit_. Did you feel that? We're gonna crash and die and burn and —"

"We're  _not_  going to crash," Liam says.

"How do you know?" Zayn snaps at him. "Are you flying the plane, Liam? No. You're not, and we're gonna  _die_. I can't breathe. I can't— I'm freaking out, I—"

Liam releases his hand. Zayn whines at the loss of contact and the way it makes him feel a million times more terrified, if that's even possible. But then Liam's slipping his hand into Zayn's blanket, and that fear disappears momentarily.

"What are you doing?" Zayn whispers.

Liam looks at him, completely innocent. "Calming you down."

His hand moves over Zayn's thigh, grazing over his crotch, and Zayn takes a sharp look around. The seats parallel to them are nearly empty, save for a man that looks like he's in his fifties, snoring as he sleeps straight through the way the plane seems to shake and lose altitude. He can't tell if anyone behind them can see anything, and he isn't about to turn around to check.

"That's — that's probably not a good idea," Zayn says as quietly as he can. "Someone could get out of their seat and see, or—"

Liam grips him tightly through his jeans, and yeah, Zayn's fucking hard. He can't help it. "You're still shaking," he comments.

"Yeah, but that might have more to do with the fact that you're touching my  _dick_ , so— Oh, fuck." He squeezes his eyes closed again and focuses on Liam's hand instead of the nausea that thunders through him as the plane continues to jolt uneasily.

Liam easily undoes Zayn's jeans, tugging down the zipper. Zayn frantically checks to make sure, once again, that no one's watching as Liam's hand slips under the waistband of his boxers. It's too tight, not enough room, but Liam finds a way to wrap a hand around him anyways. Liam leans over the seat divider, and Zayn tilts his head, waiting for Liam's lips to find his own. They do, but he only brushes his lips against Zayn's before saying, "Fuck, you're so hot."

The plane jerks, but Liam's grip tightens around him, and he thumbs over the head of Zayn's cock, doing his best to smear precome over it. Zayn bites down sharply on his tongue to stop from making a sound at that, eyes closing once more. He can't help the frightened whine when the plane jolts again, though, but Liam easily talks him through it.

"Right before you come," he says, breath splaying against Zayn's part lips, "you get this look on your face." He stops for a moment to pull Zayn out of his boxers and jeans, careful to keep the blanket covering them, not that it does much to hide what's happening underneath it. "It's the greatest thing I've ever seen. You're so beautiful, but in that moment, knowing I did that—" He cuts off with a moan and speeds up, and the sound of his hand moving over Zayn's cock is loud enough that they're going to get caught, but Zayn can't tell him to stop.

" _Liam_."

"I know," Liam says. "Fuck, I'm so hard right now, just watching you trying not to moan. You're obscene, you really are."

Zayn tilts his head back and brings his fist to his mouth, biting down on it. Liam's hands have always been a little callused, and that only makes it better, really. He somehow knows just how Zayn likes it, perfect grip, speeding up at the right times and slowing down at others to keep him so close to the edge. His body is tensed still, but it's no longer because of fear. He feels like he's burning up, heat waving over his body as he tries to catch his breath and not thrust up into Liam's hand.

"Should be clear skies from this point on, folks," he hears over the loud speaker.

Now that he hears that, he realizes the plane isn't jostling anymore. And he lets out a relieved sigh and concentrates on the way Liam's making him feel. He's so close, now, and then—

Liam's hand disappears without warning. Zayn blinks open his eyes, giving Liam a sharp look. "Liam, what—?"

Liam smirks to himself and picks up his comic. "Next time when I tell you not to throw your money around, maybe you'll listen to me," he says happily.

Zayn gapes at him. He drops his gaze to where he's tenting the blankets with his erection and then glares back at Liam. "You can't be serious. Babe, Liam, come on. I'm so close, please. Don't. Liam, come on."

"Nope." He licks his fingers and turns the page. "Hm, d'you think we could go see Pacific Rim the next time you have the day off? It looks pretty good." He turns to look at Zayn, the picture of innocence. "Something wrong, babe?"

"Liam," he spits. "I can't just get myself off on a fucking airplane."

"Should have thought of that before."

Zayn continues to glare at him, but it does nothing to break Liam's resolve. So he tries pouting, and even begging, but Liam steadily ignores him, even though Zayn notices the bulge in his own jeans and offers to take care of it if he'd just get Zayn off first. But he says no, and Zayn ends up doing up his jeans over his boner and making his way to the bathroom. It's an all time low, honestly, wanking in the bathroom on a fucking airplane, but it's a physical ache, at this point, a  _need_  to get off, not a want.

He's flushed red when he exits the bathroom, but no one looks at him funny or seems to have suspected anything. He falls back into his seat beside Liam and glares at nothing for a while before asking, "Are we even, now? Does that count as payback?"

Liam smirks to himself. "I guess we could call it even."

—

"Fifteen, he can't ever fucking do his dishes," Harry continues loudly. "Sixteen, he  _never_  puts his shoes neatly by the door. He always kicks them around the apartment and leaves me to clean them up. Seventeen—"

" _Harry_ ," Zayn snaps. "Seriously."

Harry sits up, no longer laying on his back on sofa in their tour bus. He runs a hand through his hair and pouts. "Why is it that I don't hate him? I could go on, the list is  _endless_  but I still love him."

"Because he's your best friend," Niall supplies.

"Zayn's my best friend," Harry corrects, before hastily adding, "I mean, if I had a best friend. But I don't play favourites. I love all of you equally."

"Zayn doesn't want to be your favourite," Zayn groans. "Zayn wants you and Louis to stop be so fucking stupid."

"Yeah, well." Harry tilts his chin defiantly. "Harry wants Louis to stop being an ass all the time."

"Niall wants you two to shut the fuck up," Niall adds from his bunk, where he's curled up with Josh.

"I just want you all to stop talking in third person," Josh says. "It's annoying and creepy."

Zayn rolls his eyes and checks his watch. Or— Liam's watch, really. Zayn is terrible at remembering when he's supposed to do things, always forgetting to check the time or set an alarm, and Liam had slipped it onto his wrist one day because of that. He's yet to take it back off, except for when he showers. It's not the nicest watch, honestly. It's old and the second hand it stuck between the two and the three, but it's got Liam's dad's initials carved into it and it means a lot to Liam, so naturally Zayn loves it.

"Seriously?" Harry demands, but he doesn't sound upset. Just fond, mostly. "It's not even been an hour. Your separation anxiety is ridiculous."

Zayn glares at him for that. Liam and Louis went out for the day to do some shopping, and Zayn isn't having separation anxiety. He's not  _that_  co-dependent, thanks. He's just a bit tired, and bored, and he wants to go back to his own bus and sleep, but he can't do that without Liam, which is why he's on the other bus with Harry and fucking Cory and Topanga.

"Fuck off," Zayn says without heat. "Or I'll go on your twitter and start tweeting about how much you love Louis' ass."

Harry scoffs. "You don't know my password."

"Really." He sits up, pulling out his phone. He signs out of his own account, types in Harry's email address and tries " _LouisTomlinson_. Oh, huh, that actually didn't work."

"You're not going to get it," Harry says with a smirk. "It's not that obvious."

"So you're admitting that it's obvious," Niall interjects. "That it'd be Louis. So you're technically admitting that your love for Louis is obvious. Just so you're self-aware."

"Try Louis' birthday and middle name together," Josh suggests.

Harry goes white. "Don't."

It works. Zayn jumps out of his seat when Harry reaches for his phone, and he smashes the keys and does his best to hit 'tweet'. "I love Louis Tomlinson more than I love hipster bands, and my fascination with bananas is questionable," Zayn says while he types, but he really posts ' _I owe Zayn for life for not embarrassing me to in front of my million followers.'_ But he can't resist  _LiamPayne you're so hot I want to lick ur abs for days_.

He checks Liam's twitter, just to see when he last updated, and finds  _Harrystyles um u ok?_

Zayn grins to himself and quickly types out  _LiamPayne no I miss u bby when r u coming back?_

Almost immediately he gets a text from Louis that reads  _GET OFF HARRY'S TWITTER YOU FUCKER_. Zayn ignores him.

_HarryStyles_   _um soon I think? :/_

"You're a prick," Harry states.

Zayn ignores him, too.  _Liam Payne good. I'll be waiting in bed 4 u gorgeous_   _wearing nothing but whipped cream ;)_

Niall's snorting with laughter by the time he's done, but Harry's sitting on the couch, pouting and ignoring him. Josh is glaring at him, like he doesn't find it funny, and Zayn sighs at them both. "I'm sorry," he offers. "You can always just tweet that it was me on your twitter."

"I don't want to," Harry says quietly.

"No," Niall groans. "Not again, Harry. Don't do the moping thing again. I'll start throwing things at you, I swear it. Soft, light things, but still. Like, marshmallows. But I'll throw 'em real hard."

"Okay," Harry sighs out. "I understand if that will make you feel better. I'm sorry I'm being such a buzz kill."

It physically huts him, the defeated slump to Harry's shoulder. He puts his phone down and sits on the sofa, arm going around Harry's shoulder. He pulls him in, until Harry's head is propped under his chin, curls tickling his neck. He smells like pine needles today, sharp and woodsy. "Harry," he says.

"Zayn," Harry says right back.

Zayn rubs his arm. "You're really upset about this, aren't you? I mean, I get it, the fact that you both would rather yell at each other than admit that you love each other, but — I mean, you really don't get that he's just as in love with you as you are with him, do you?"

"Can we just not talk about it, please?"

"Yeah," Zayn agrees, if only to get the wounded sound out of Harry's voice. "Yeah, we can not talk about it."

"You know what we should talk about?" Harry asks abruptly, sitting up so fast he knocks his head against Zayn's chin, making them both wince. That's just Harry; he went from on the verge of tears to breathtakingly happy in seconds, his mouth spreading into a wide grin. "The fact that you totally owe us for Liam. If it weren't for us, you'd never have met him."

Which is true. He's thought about that once or twice, how close he and Liam were to never meeting. If he would have been a little more firm, or if he would have called off the interviews a little earlier, it never would have happened. And, admittedly, the others can take credit for it happening. "Guess I should thank you guys, then," Zayn says. "Doesn't mean I'm actually going to, though."

Harry punches his shoulder and Zayn reaches forward, pulling at the elastic headband he's wearing so it snaps against his forehead. "Ouch."

"Loser."

"Prick."

Later, when he's back with Liam in his own tour bus, he chews on two pieces of gum and tries to think. Liam's sitting beside him, playing games on the DS. Zayn groans and rolls so he sprawls right out on top of Liam, limbs spread wide. "We need a plan," he states.

"What kind of plan?" Liam inquires, the only reaction to Zayn flopping onto him being the lifting of his arms so he can continue playing the game. "Damn it, Donkey Kong, why did you have to throw that shell you piece of shit?"

Zayn laughs. "Do you realize that the only time you swear is during sex or when you're playing Mario Kart?"

Liam blinks down at him. "I didn't mean to. This game really upsets me."

"Your abs upset me," Zayn counters.

"Is that why you tweeted about them from Harry's account? Which wasn't funny, you know. It threw me off for a minute. I was extremely uncomfortable. I thought Lou was going to kill me over it."

"Speaking of that," Zayn says, pushing himself up. He extracts the game from Liam's hands, ignoring Liam's sound of protest. "We need to figure out a way to fix this for them. They're never going to do it themselves. We need to be the ones to do it."

Liam makes a face. "I'd really rather not get involved in their relationship."

"Why?"

"Louis terrifies me a bit, and I also don't think it's our right to interfere. They'll work it out on their own if it's meant to happen."

"You don't know them the way I do," Zayn argues. "They  _won't_. They will literally avoid this until they're both, like, ninety-five, sitting in an old folks home, bickering with each other when they can't even use the bathroom by themselves, making everyone miserable."

"What do you propose we do, then?"

Zayn thinks. And thinks. And thinks. "I have no idea."

"I still think my idea was a good one," Liam says while brushing Zayn's hair with his fingers. "The tweet at the concert thing. Public, romantic. I think it'd work."

"If Louis weren't a chicken shit," Zayn agrees.

Liam hums his agreement. "We could do it for him," he muses. "Not give him the choice."

"Wait," Zayn says suddenly. "What if we locked them in their tour bus? Refused to let them out until they talked about their feelings. Louis would be less likely to kill us, and Harry would be less likely to cry on stage in front of thousands."

Liam looks sceptical. "They might kill  _each other_ , though."

Zayn shrugs. "That would still solve the problem of them being annoyingly emotionally constipated."

Liam debates this for a moment. "That may actually work," he agrees. "You evil genius."

"I try."

Zayn takes out his shoebox and flips through his notebooks, rereading his newest stuff while Liam goes back to his game. It's good, he thinks. Maybe not the best, maybe not good  _enough_ , but good. He likes it. When he starts humming one of the songs under his breath, he notices Liam discreetly turn down the game volume, his eyes flicking to Zayn's until he realizes Zayn's watching him, too. He pretends to look into the game after that, like Zayn won't sing if he knows Liam's watching.

Quite the opposite, actually. He sings a little louder, testing how certain lines sound out loud, if they match what he'd pictured in his head. Liam gives up all pretence of playing and tosses the game onto the small bedside tale. He moves until his head falls into Zayn's lap and he closes his eyes. "Don't stop," he urges. "Love it when you sing."

So Zayn does, until Liam's smiling and his words are breaking off because he's too caught up in tracing Liam's cheekbones to remember what he's doing. Liam scolds him for this, makes him start again, and Zayn can't say no to him so once again he continues.

"Your birthday's coming up," he comments at some point.

"Why are you not singing?" Liam complains.

"Because, you donut." He pokes Liam's nose. "I'm asking you what you want to do for your birthday."

Liam bats open his eyes, giving Zayn a carefully considerate look. "Can we do whatever I want?"

"Of course."

"I mean  _whatever_  I want. No matter how ridiculous it sounds, or what it costs, or anything? And you can't say no or argue for any reason?"

Zayn brushes his fingers over Liam's eyebrows. "Ask me for the world and I'd figure out a way to give it to you, I promise."

"I don't doubt that you'd try," Liam admits. He grins and kisses the inside of Zayn's palm. "Okay, I don't want a gift. I just want cake and maybe snacks or something with the other lads in a hotel room with a TV so we can all watch movies."

Zayn waits for him to continue but he doesn't. "I could literally fly you across the world," Zayn says. "We could watch the sunset in Paris. Spend the night on a beach in Jamaica. Feed each other fruit while laying in a hammock in Costa Rica, or Greece. We could go to  _Disneyland_  or any theme park you could think of. We could go to Vegas and — We could do anything in the world and you want a movie night in a hotel room with the guys?"

"Maybe it could be a room with a hot tub, that way you and I could relax afterwards. And maybe you could give me a backrub, but only if you're feeling up to it."

"Only if—" Zayn cuts off, bending down awkwardly so he can kiss Liam. It strains his neck, burns his muscles, but he doesn't care. "You're unbelievable."

Liam kisses him back, looking damn pleased with that. "Wait," he says, pushing at Zayn's chest. "There's one other thing I'd like."

"It's not something I can buy you, is it?"

Liam shakes his head. "It's not." He tugs at the collar of Zayn's shirt, pulling him closer again. Liam's eyes close, but instead of kissing Zayn he says quietly, "I'd like to, um, like — don't feel pressured but if you  _wanted_  to I'd maybe like us to, um, you know.  _You know_."

Zayn thinks he has a pretty good guess, but he says, "Sorry, Liam, I'm not following."

Liam goes red, eyes narrowing. "Is this payback for the plane thing? You're going to make me say it?" Zayn grins down at him, and Liam sighs deeply. "Okay, I'd like for us to — on my birthday." He trails a finger over Zayn's throat, up to his chin. "I'd like to do that with you. We've done everything else."

Zayn's certain Liam can feel his pulse thundering under his fingertips. He gives up every pretence of teasing Liam because he wants that, too. Badly. So badly, actually. "We can do that," he says, slightly breathless.

"Really?"

Zayn laughs. "Yes, Liam, really. Like I'd say no, I don't want to have sex with you. Because I do. I want to have sex with you all the time, in fact. At least ninety percent of the time."

"How romantic," Liam snorts.

"Oh, you want romance?" Zayn asks. He pushes everything away, slipping out from under Liam's head so he can crawl on top of him. He splays his fingers on Liam's chest and leans down. "I can do romance. Just you watch."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"You will," Zayn promises, and he vows to do everything he can do accomplish this. Music, flowers, dimmed lights, the whole fucking shebang. "Everything for you. Just ask and I'll find a way to do it."

"In that case," Liam yawns, "can we go to bed? Been tired for an hour but you were singing and it was lovely so I wasn't going to say anything."

Zayn groans and rolls off him. "Hell, Liam, you're so high maintenance."

—

It's fairly easy to get everyone on board with their plan, but what's  _not_  easy is keeping it from Harry and Louis. And also getting them both on the bus at the same time without either of them following Josh and Niall out when they leave. Twice they've tried, and both times Harry made an excuse to follow them off the bus, thus foiling their plan. So Zayn thought of a new one. And their friends are probably going to kill them for it, and it took a look of pleading by Liam to the bus driver (who of course said yes because he and Liam were already friendly enough, since Liam befriends everyone he meets, apparently), but it's working.

It's six in the morning, is the thing. Harry and Louis are still asleep when the bus stops, and Josh and Niall stumble from their bus, rubbing their eyes and yawning, blankets thrown over their shoulders. "Too tired for this shit," Niall groans when he gets onto Zayn's bus. "Too tired for any shit."

Zayn yawns and rests his head tiredly on Liam's shoulder. "It'll be worth it," he mumbles. "True love and all that bullshit."

"It's too early for true love," Niall decides. "'m going back to bed. Josh?"

Josh is nearly falling asleep while standing up. He blindly reaches out for Niall's hand, and Niall tugs him to the sofa, where they both collapse in what looks like a really uncomfortable heap. But they stay just like that, one of Niall's feet planted firmly on the floor, Josh's head hanging off the edge, neither shifting to get in a better position.

"That was kind of impressive," Liam comments.

Of course  _he_  sounds wide awake. Liam tends to get up early, and once he's awake it's hard to get him back to bed, no matter how much begging Zayn does. "Back to sleep, Liam," he tries anyways.

"Too awake," Liam admits. "But it's fine, you go back to sleep, I'll stay with you."

So that's what they do. Zayn wakes up some time later to his phone ringing. He searches for it, hand slapping against the bedside table until Liam reaches over and hands it to him. He presses talk, lifts it to his ear, and mumbles, "Yeah?"

"This isn't funny," Harry hisses in his ear. "Zayn, tell them to stop the bus and let us off. Now."

"Tell him I'll fucking kill him if I get my hands on him! Liam better be damn fucking good at his job because I'm coming for you, Zayn!" Louis shouts in the background.

Zayn expected this. It's actually part of the plan. "Harry," he says calmly, way too alert for someone who woke up only seconds ago, "just calm down. Listen to me. Are you listening?"

"Obviously."

"There's stuff to make breakfast in the minifridge and in the cupboards. There's lube and condoms stashed in the bathroom. There's all of your favourite romantic movies by the TV. Stop complaining and just  _enjoy_  yourselves. Talk. Work it out. And you're not allowed off the bus until you both at least apologize and sort through your feelings."

"What did he say?" Louis demands. "Let me talk to him!"

"No," Harry says quickly. "He, uh, said we aren't allowed to leave the bus until we… sort out our feelings, apparently."

"I'll sort out my feelings on his fucking face," Louis spits. "Zayn! I know you can hear me! You've got five minutes to get me off this bus or I—"

"Just  _stop_ ," Harry snaps. Louis cuts off and Zayn sucks in a sharp, surprised breath. "Is the thought of being stuck on here with me really that bad? A year ago we would have loved it. It would have been no big deal. And now we're acting like someone's slowly killing us, forcing us to spend time together."

"Yeah, well." Louis scoffs. "That was before you decided to hate me."

"No, that was before I realized that I felt a lot more for you than you did for me," Harry says lowly. "There's a difference. I never hated you. I hate the way you made me feel, yeah, but I don't hate  _you_."

Zayn hangs up the phone. He doesn't want to hear that. It's not his place, and he'd feel like he was intruding, eavesdropping, if he continued to listen. He finds Liam looking at him curiously when he puts down the phone, and he explains, "They're talking, I think."

"Good." Liam pulls him closer. "Maybe it'll all work out, then."

Zayn covers his mouth with a yawn. "So what are we going to do today?"

Liam shrugs. "Whatever you want. You've got the whole day off."

"Can we all go to dinner?" Josh interrupts. He's leaning in the doorway of their back room, looking a little sheepish. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to eavesdrop. Niall's still sleeping and I got bored."

Zayn double-checks to make sure that Liam's fully covered (sometimes he sleeps without  _anything_  on, and he'd rather not have anyone else see that), and then he tugs and a hand through his hair while shrugging. "The four of us? Like a double date?"

"Niall and I don't exactly go on dates," Josh admits.

"Yeah, you two stay home and fuck like rabbits all day," Zayn says.

Liam and Josh both blush at that, and Liam taps his leg, not approving. "Whatever," Josh says easily. "Yeah, I guess we do. But I'd like to go out for once."

Zayn debates for a moment before turning to Liam. "What do you say, babe?"

"Will I get to hold your hand?"

"If you want."

"And kiss you?"

"Sure, Liam."

"One condition, then," Liam says. Zayn raises his eyebrows expectantly, and Liam swoops in, lips finding Zayn's neck. And he sucks hard. Zayn's back arches on instinct, and he slides a hand into Liam's hair, gripping it tightly, not sure if he's trying to pull Liam's head away or force him to keep going.

A moan slips between his lips, and it sounds a hell of a lot like Liam's name. He tilts his head back, bearing his neck a little better, and Liam stops sucking to pepper kisses all along it, offsetting every gentle brush of his lips with a sharp little nip that has Zayn's toes curling because he likes that. Likes the hair pulling and the biting and the knowledge that Liam's left a mark on him.

"Oh, wow," Liam say when he pulls back. "Might have gone a little overboard there." He presses his fingers to Zayn's neck and gives him a wide-eyed, apologetic look. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Zayn says, a little dazed.

Liam grins at him. "Guess I'd be up for a double date, now that I've left my mark on you for once," he says. "So yeah, Josh— Where'd he go?"

Zayn looks to the doorway, but Josh has left, shutting the door and everything. Zayn tugs Liam closer to him again. "Who cares."

By the time they actually get out of bed and get dressed, it's nearly the afternoon. He has so many missed messages and upset texts from Louis and Harry, but he ignores them. For now. When they get back they'll let them out, even if they haven't fixed the problem. Or maybe even if the problem isn't fixable.

"Where are we going?" Niall asks when they all pile into the car. He and Liam get the backseat, Niall and Josh take the middle. "Because you realize we can't all afford to eat at the places you eat, right?"

Zayn grins. "You can if they're giving us our entire meal for free as long as I tweet about the place."

"Fame whore," Niall chides.

"What does that even mean?" Josh asks.

"It's like — he pimps out his fame to get stuff instead of his body. Fame whore."

Zayn flicks him on the back of the head for that. "You can pay for you and Josh, then."

The restaurant they go to is fairly fancy. It's not the type of place that you're forced to wear something formal, though, which is good, considering the fact that they're all in t-shirts and jeans, except Liam, who's in just a tank top because it's summer and it's hot and maybe Zayn asked him to because Liam's  _arms_.

The waitress who serves them seems a bit flustered, and she nearly spills everything she puts on the table. It's nice, though. The food's good, even if Liam looks lost when he's looking over the menu so Zayn orders for him. And Josh and Niall are always great company; they both could lighten up the darkest of moods, and maybe that's why they work so well together. Niall burns brightly like the sun, forever chipper and upbeat, and Josh has the same kind of warmth that Liam does, radiating from him like a campfire on a cold summer night.

Near the end of their lunch, Zayn notices the people milling around out front of the restaurant. Liam notices them, too, and he leans in closely to whisper, "Want me to find us a back exit out of here to avoid that?"

Zayn shakes his head firmly. "No, I don't. I'm on a date with the love of my life and my best friends. I sort of want this moment to headline in magazines. Want to be able to look at it in the future and remember how happy I was today."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah," Zayn says. "And now that I can finally show you off, I don't think I want to stop."

Liam's eyes drop to the mark on Zayn's neck. It's not as noticeable as he thought, but it's still clearly there. Pink with dark pinpricks of red, and it hurts a little when he touches it, but in a good way. Liam can't stop looking at it, and this possessive look comes over his face when he does. Maybe that should bother him; it really doesn't. If anything it makes him shift in his seat and adjust himself in his pants because that looks gets him a little too heated than he should be in public.

"Okay," Liam agrees. He kisses Zayn's cheek, right there in clear site of the windows. Zayn has no doubt that someone's got a blurry picture of it, and he doesn't even care.

"Can we do something after this?" Niall asks. He's finishing off Josh's pasta, reaching right over Josh to steal pieces of it. "Like ice cream, or something."

"I don't like ice cream," Liam says.

Niall and Josh both gape at him. "How—  _how_?"

"Too cold," Liam says with a shrugs. "Texture's weird. I just don't like it."

"That's fucked up, man," Niall says solemnly. "Real fucked up, Liam."

"There's a laser tag place a few streets from here," Josh says while flipping through his phone. "It's cheap, fun, and I've always wanted to play laser tag."

Zayn makes a face. That sounds like a lot of running and exercise. Liam and Niall, on the other hand, brighten like children on Christmas morning. "Oh, alright," Zayn relents.

"We'll do teams," Liam bargains. "And we'll kick their asses."

"The bigger they are," Niall says pointedly to Liam, "the harder they fall."

Their meal really is free, but Zayn heavily tips the waitress. They don't bother calling the car, since the laser tag place really is only a few streets down, but Zayn regrets that the second they get outside. He'd thought it wouldn't be that bad, but it is.

"Zayn! Over here!" "Zayn, could you answer a few questions for us?!" "Zayn, is it true that you're dating Selena Gomez?"

Zayn tries to blink away the flash from the camera and shoulder past the people blocking his way. Liam is right there, arm going around his waist. "Could you please give us some room?" Liam asks politely, but he doesn't  _look_  polite. His eyes are narrowed and he looks ready to bite anyone who comes to close, like a seriously protective guard dog.

"It's okay, babe," Zayn assures him, leaning in to kiss his cheek. Liam relaxes instantly, shoulders slumping a bit.

"Was that a kiss?" someone shouts. "Did he just kiss—?"

"Yes, he did," Liam says confidently. "If you could excuse us, please, we're on a date."

"A date?" someone else yells. "Does that mean it's official, Zayn? Are you really dating your bodyguard?"

Zayn smiles sweetly. "I am, actually. Liam, if you could?"

Liam nods. He tightens his grip on Zayn's waist and, like that night at the charity ball, easily bulldozes through the crowd of people. Sometimes Zayn forgets just how good he really is at his job. Forgets that the corded muscles that wrap around Liam's body are more than just aesthetically pleasing.

It's not that easy to get the paparazzi to leave them alone, but some of them do back off. A few trail after them as they make their way down the street, hand in hand, with Niall and Josh a ways ahead of them, avoiding the thick of things. Zayn just ignores it, paying attention to only Liam and where they're going.

He doesn't notice until they get to the laser tag place. Liam's got blood dripping from his eyebrow, down his face. Zayn freezes, eye wide, and reaches up to cut his cheek. His stomach knots uncomfortably, and he can't breathe for a moment. "What happened?"

"Someone's camera," Liam admits, reaching up to wipe the blood away with the palm of his hand. "It's fine, no big deal."

" _Liam_." It is a big deal, actually. The red crusts to his skin, and he can see the small gash now, just below his left eyebrow. "Babe, fuck, you're  _hurt_."

"It's  _fine_ ," Liam assures him. "Honestly. It's not a big deal. It's barely a scratch."

"Yeah, but—" It's hard to get the words out through the lump in his throat. "'s my fault."

Liam kisses him, firm and sloppy and exaggerated, tongue pushing easily into Zayn's mouth. There's got to be people watching them, at least the guy behind the counter who Niall and Josh are talking to about prices, but neither of them really give a shit. "A single scratch isn't going to kill me," Liam says. "And I'd take a lot more than that to keep you safe, you know that."

Zayn sighs. "Doesn't mean I like it."

"I know." Liam kisses his temple. "Now come on, laser tag, Zayn.  _Laser tag_."

"Running, Liam," Zayn complains. "Gross."

It's fun, though. They do teams, only it's Zayn and Niall versus Liam and Josh. Which is probably the worst idea, actually. Niall's more out of shape than he is, stopping to catch his breath whenever he can. And Josh and Liam workout together, sometimes, so they're more than outmatched.

"I live— off takeaway— and beer," Niall pants while they hide behind some sort of foam wall thing. "Only reason I don't way three hundred pounds is — a good metabolism. I'm not cut out for — shit like this."

Zayn punches him in the shoulder. "You're gonna let them beat us? You think they'll ever let us live that down?"

"You're way too competitive, mate," Niall groans. "Wish Harry were here. He'd curl up on the ground and let us win."

It's  _fun_  though, it is. As much as his lungs are burning, and his legs are aching. Even if some nine year old kid kicks him in the shins for taking his hiding spot. Even if Liam and Josh completely destroy them and Niall gives up, waving a makeshift white flag from a piece of his shirt that he'd ripped while trying to dive into a summersault (which resulted in the giant goose egg on his head).

"We need to do stuff like this all the time," Zayn says when they go to leave. "As often as we can. Whenever we have days off."

"Next time could we go to an arcade or something instead?" Niall bargains. "Something with a lot less endurance."

"Yeah, okay."

This time the car's waiting out front, and Liam once again wraps his arms around Zayn and easily gets him to the car without incident. He collapses in the backseat, exhausted, and Liam drags his fingers through his hair.

"Think one of them's dead in there and the other's eating his carcass?" Niall asks when they get back to the busses.

Zayn makes a face at him. "I hope not. That might make us accomplices in a murder trial, and I don't think that kind of press would be good for me."

"We should let them out," Liam says. "If they haven't worked it out by now, they probably never will."

It's the truth, as much as it sucks. So they do. The bus driver has to unlock the door, and then Zayn tentatively slides it open and calls, "Harry? Lou?"

He doesn't hear anything, at first, but then there's a giggle, and a groan, and Louis calls, "G-go away! We're trying to  _oh_.  _Oh, fuck, Harry_."

"Love you, love you, love you," Harry chants breathlessly, voice audible over the sound of skin slapping against skin.

"Fuck, I love you too," Louis hisses. "You're so  _tight_ , fuck, I—"

Zayn slowly backs out of the bus and shuts the door behind him. He turns, mouth agape, and shakes his head at the others. "Um." He licks his lips. "No one's dead, at least. I'm, uh, going to go pour a bottle of bleach in my ears and prays it disinfects that whole scene from my brain."

Niall's lips twist into a grimace. "They're fucking on our tour bus, aren't they? We should have seen this coming."

—

The hotel room is, admittedly, huge. Liam had only specified a hot tub and a TV, so Zayn has requested the most expensive room in the hotel they were staying at. And expensive it is, but for good reason. It's got an entire separate bedroom, a living area with a couch, and the bathroom is the size of Liam's entire flat. There's a giant tub with jets and enough room for four people, comfortably, a shower, a long sink, a little private area for the toilet. There's a balcony, and large sliding doors that lead out onto it. The bed is a huge four-poster affair with a black silk comforter and red pillows. The entire back wall of the hotel room is made of floor to ceiling glass walls, draped in red silk curtains. And it's costing him about eight thousand bucks a night.

"Zayn," Liam says when they walk in, looking more than a little stunned.

"I know," Zayn admits. "It's more over the top than you were expecting, but." He shrugs.

The bellhop comes into the room with their bags and quickly asks if they need anything. Zayn says no, thank you, and tips him before shutting and locking the door behind him.

"It's too much," Liam decides, and he hasn't even explored the entire room yet. "Way too much. How much is this costing you?"

Zayn wraps his arms around Liam from behind, lips finding the nape of his neck. "Not nearly as much as I'd be willing to spend on you," Zayn murmurs against his skin. "This is nothing, Liam. And don't tell me I'm not allowed to throw my money around and spend it on you, because that's bullshit. I work hard for my money, and I should be able to spend it on whatever I want, or  _whoever_  I want. And I want to spend it on you. It makes me  _happy_  to do that. So you should just accept it and move on."

Liam turns in his arms, head tipping onto Zayn's shoulder. "Thank you, then."

"Happy birthday, gorgeous," Zayn says into his hair. "Let's go explore this eight thousand dollar room. I'm expecting some chocolates on my pillows."

He starts moving towards the rest of the room, Liam's hand in his, but Liam is rooted to the spot. "What did you just say?"

"Um, chocolates?"

"Eight thousand—  _Zayn_!"

Zayn groans. "It's one night, Liam! And you wouldn't let me fly you to Costa Rica, so I think this is a fairly good compromise."

"You're terrified of flying," Liam points out. "Why in the world would I let you do that?"

"I'm just saying," Zayn argues. "This is low-key compared to, like, renting us an entire island to spend the weekend alone together, right? So just — get over it and come check out the bed with me."

Liam glares but takes Zayn's hand, letting Zayn drag him through the room while he mutters, "Eight thousand fucking — my entire rent for half a year in one night— damn it, Zayn," under his breath.

The bedroom is just as nice as promised. It's a large, spacious room with a fluffy white carpet, and the lights are dimmable, able to cast the room in a soft, warm glow. There's a fireplace, the giant bed, and the door to the ridiculous bathroom. "Hot tub," Zayn says while he pushes open the door to the bathroom. "Just like you asked."

"That's not a hot tub," Liam deadpans. "That's a warm swimming pool. In a bathroom."

Zayn kisses him, pushing Liam back towards the bed. "It's your birthday," he says. "One day. It's  _one day_ , don't go all Bella Swan on me about this."

"Can't believe you read Twilight," Liam snickers, but he allows Zayn to guide him towards the bed anyways.

"I love you," Zayn says. "I love you more than almost anything and everything in the world. And it's one day, Liam. One day in this giant bed, in this giant room. One day where we can do whatever your heart desires. Hell, we can get naked and stay naked until the sun comes up. We can do whatever you want, but the only thing you're  _not_  allowed to do is complain. Not a single complaint ever again for the rest of the night. Understood?"

"Can we really stay naked all night?" Liam asks as his legs hit the bed.

"Sure," Zayn agrees. "But I thought you wanted movies with the guys first."

"After that," Liam corrects. "A ban on clothing?" Zayn nods. "What if we order room service?"

"Then an employee's going to get quite the eyeful," Zayn chuckles as he pushes Liam down, straddling him easily. "Your birthday, you get whatever you want."

Liam gently pushes him away, and Zayn falls onto his back on the bed beside him. "Sorry," Liam offers, tilting his head to the side. "You said whatever I want, though, and I was promised cake, if I remember. But if you didn't get off me I'd enforce that clothing ban right now, and I really would like to watch movies with the others first."

Zayn sits up, leaning on his palms. "Yeah, good idea. Besides, I have plans."

"Plans?" Liam inquires.

"Not telling," Zayn says quickly. "So don't even do the pouty, puppy-eyed thing, Liam. It won't work."

An hour later and he uses one of Harry's endless, ridiculous headbands to cover Liam's eyes. Louis carries in the cake (which makes Zayn more than a little nervous) and places it on the wooden coffee table in their room, and Zayn uses his lighter to light each of the candles. There's exactly twenty-two candles stuck precariously over the cake, trying to hide the fact that it reads _Happy Birthday Leon_. "The bakery guy couldn't understand my accent, apparently," Louis explained with a shrug. "But hey, chocolate icing."

"Is the blindfolding necessary?" Liam asks.

"Yes," he and Louis snap. Harry hits the lights. "Okay, you can take it off."

They all sing happy birthday. Niall purposefully goes off key, and Zayn does his best to be quiet so he doesn't overpower everyone else. Liam laughs and blows out the candles, and Louis scoops up a handful of his cake and smears it in Liam's face, rubbing the remnants of icing on Harry's.

" _Louis_ ," Zayn says loudly. "What the fuck?"

"Happy birthday, Liam?" Louis says sheepishly. He licks his fingers. "I pick out a damn good cake, in case any of you are wondering."

Harry carefully removes the cake from the table, bringing it to the tiny kitchen in the hotel, cutting up pieces while Zayn lays out a row of movies. "Your pick," he says to Liam. "I got all your favourites."

Liam's hand hovers over a DVD case and Louis groans, so he reaches for another one. Yet again, Louis makes a sound of annoyance, and this continues until Liam says, exasperated, "Would you like to pick, Lou?"

"No," Zayn interjects. "Liam's birthday, Liam's pick."

"I've already seen all the Iron Man movies, like, five times," Louis argues.

"Dark Skies?" Liam suggests. "I haven't seen it, and it's a horror movie, right?"

Zayn grabs it and shoves it in the DVD player before anyone can argue with that. Harry brings out cake on little paper plates, and Zayn settles in on Liam's left, with Louis on Liam's right.

It's too dysfunctional, all of them trying to watch a movie together. For one, Harry, Niall and Josh are stuck on the floor, though at least it wasn't Louis and none of them complained. Every time anyone but Harry opens their mouths, Louis hisses loudly, but he keeps up his own loud commentary of the movie. They pause it about nine times because there's always  _some_  reason for someone getting up. Niall has to use the bathroom, Harry needs a drink, Louis wants more cake, now  _Harry_  needs the bathroom and Liam wants more cake and Louis needs a napkin because he splits his drink all over his lap. They explain the plot to Niall about four different times, and each time he looks just as confused as he had before they'd explained. And—

It's really nice, all in all. Liam leaning against his side, Niall sitting against his legs. The fact that Harry and Louis aren't arguing and have apparently come to an agreement though neither of them are telling anyone if they're dating because they're still a little butt hurt about the whole locking them in the tour bus thing. And while Zayn has absolutely no fucking idea how the movie ends, he doesn't mind it one bit.

"Another one?" Louis asks when it's over.

Zayn stands up, untangling Liam's arms from around him. "No," he says pointedly. "We have other plans."

Harry winks at him before helping him shoo the others out of the room. They leave paper plates and food smeared on the table and empty Coke cans behind them, but Zayn doesn't mind. He won't be the one cleaning it up.

"Do you want dinner?" Zayn asks Liam. "Or do you want to move on to my next part of the plan and have dinner later?"

Liam yawns and stretches, shirt hiking up above his stomach. Zayn's eyes drop to it, following the trail of hair there, and he prays Liam picks the second option. "Next part of the plan?" he asks.

"Right." Zayn nods and offers Liam a hand off the couch, which Liam takes, but he pushes himself up without any help from Zayn, so really Zayn's only holding his hand while Liam gets up. "You need to wait in the bedroom for, like, two minutes."

"What are you going to do?" Liam asks suspiciously.

"Make a phonecall," Zayn says. "And set up the bath."

He guides Liam into the room, and Liam yawns before stretching out on the bed. "You do that, then. I'm just going to relax."

Zayn leaves Liam behind, heading for the bathroom. The tub is a little harder to work than he thought, but he figures it out after a minute or two, and the tub starts filling. He pulls out his phone, calls down to the front desk, and tells them to wait about ten minutes before coming to the room, that way he can be sure that he and Liam are securely locked in the bathroom while they do the rest.

When the tub is filled, he figures out how to put on the jets, finds another dimmer switch, lowers the lights, and he calls Liam into the bathroom as he strips out of his own clothes. He's toeing off his socks when Liam comes in, and he forces himself not to care that he's full exposed with the lights semi-on, because this is  _Liam_. If he can't be comfortable being naked around Liam, there's a problem there. And there's not.

"Is this my present?" Liam asks, slowly making his way towards Zayn. "You naked? Because I like this gift."

"This is all technically your gift," Zayn admits. He tried to think of something tangible to buy Liam, an actual present that he could keep for years or something, but he couldn't think of anything. "Like, the whole day. It's one giant present."

Liam ducks his head to kiss Zayn's shoulder, a hand reaching around to grope at Zayn's ass. "Best present ever, then."

Zayn laughs and pushes him away. "You need to get undressed if you want to get in the tub."

Liam's hands stay firmly around Zayn's waist. "The tub can wait," he murmurs, leaning in again. "Would rather get that other thing I asked for."

Zayn's dick swells at that, and he's sure Liam can feel it against his hip, but he ignores it. "Not part of the plan," Zayn says. "Gotta stick to the schedule."

Liam pulls back, looking mildly amused. "Schedule?" Outside the bathroom door, he hears the sound of someone moving into the bedroom. Liam stiffens, eyes widening. "Did you hear that?"

"All part of the plan," Zayn says soothingly. He pushes Liam's shirt up. "Undress, babe, come on."

Liam slots their lips together first, the kiss brief and soft and affectionate. When he pulls back he tugs his shirt off in one swift move, and Zayn helps him with his belt, and then the button on his jeans, and he's really not all that surprised when he finds Liam half-hard already under his boxers when he slides them down Liam's legs.

"Tub," Zayn orders, before he can get caught up in Liam's body and forget about the plans he'd made. There's a thump outside the door. "And ignore that."

"If it's my birthday," Liam teases as he tests the water, slipping in just his foot, "why am I getting bossed around?"

Zayn reaches for the bottle of massage oil he'd brought with him. "Because," he says. "That's why."

Liam snorts but settles into the water, and Zayn places the massage oil on the side of the tub before joining him. One of the jets is directly behind his back, the water is perfectly warm, and it feels so relaxing that he can't help but forget the plan for one minute to just tilt his head back, close his eyes, and let his body relax.

Before he knows it, Liam's moving in behind him, and he's rubbing at Zayn's shoulders with slick, oil covered fingers. It feels so fucking good, the way he kneads the muscles just enough that it's on the verge of pain, massaging out the knots expertly, like he was trained to do this.

"Wait, wait," Zayn splashes the water, eyes popping open. "I'm supposed to be giving  _you_  the massage. Liam—"

"Shh," Liam coaxes. "My birthday, you said I could do whatever you want." He digs into a particularly good spot on Zayn's back, and Zayn can't help but groan. "What I want is to give you a massage."

"Just for a minute," Zayn bargains with both himself and Liam. He lets his eyes close again, sinks a little lower in the water, comforted by Liam's hands on his back and his thighs on either side of Zayn's body.

Liam's hands slide over all of Zayn's skin that's above the warm water. Over his back, his chest, his shoulders. He kisses Zayn's neck, careful to avoid spots with oil, and whispers, "You're so fucking — I just want to kiss every inch of your skin."

"Do it," Zayn urges. "No one's stopping you."

Liam laughs and smoothes oil slicked palms over Zayn's nipples. "Can't while we're in the bath, now can I?"

Zayn shifts, pressing up against Liam as best as he can. "Trade me spots," he says. "Your turn."

Liam reluctantly agrees, and Zayn figures they're going to need a shower after the bath because the oil is in the water now, and it sticks to parts of his skin that Liam hadn't even touched, making him feel almost grossly greasy, but it smells like lilac so he's not complaining.

There's a bit of splashing as they trade spots, and Liam nearly slips, Zayn somehow stubs his toe, and they're both laughing by the time Zayn settles in behind Liam. Outside the bathroom, the hotel employees are probably wondering what the hell is going on in here. Zayn couldn't care less.

He dumps a bit of oil into his palm, slicks up his hands, and tries to do for Liam what Liam had done for him. He figures he's shit at it, but Liam's groaning and tipping his head back, making these obscene noises every one in a while.

"Louder," Liam urges, and Zayn realizes he was humming under his breath.

"Demanding," he comments, but he obliges, raising his voice just a little, singing the lines of a song that he's going to be working on in the studio in a couple days. He likes it, likes the sound and the soulful feel to it. Likes that it feels like Liam's name on his lips every time he sings it because, while not all the songs are about him, this song is definitely about Liam.

His hands move to Liam's chest instead, and he moves them slowly down, over his ribs, past the water until he's scratching his nails against Liam's naval. Liam purposefully shifts against him, grinding back as much as he can, and Zayn drops a kiss to his shoulder. "Soon," he promises. "Should be done any minute."

And he's right. There's two single, sharp knocks on the door that make Liam jump, but Zayn only sooths his hands down Liam's back again, urging him to relax once more. "We can get out now," he says. "Whenever you want."

"Kind of afraid to," Liam admits. "What were people doing in the room?"

Zayn grins. He shrugs, hoping Liam can tell that's what he did from the movement, since he knows Liam can't see it. "Told you I was going to do the whole romantic thing. Go all out."

"You didn't."

"I really did." Liam flicks water in his face. Zayn winces but laughs, shoving at Liam's shoulders. "I warned you. You knew it was coming."

"I didn't think you were serious," Liam grumbles. He moves, slowly climbing out of the tub. "But now I'm curious."

Liam hands him a towel when he gets out, and he dries off before grabbing one of the bath robes. He grabs the makeshift blindfold again, and Liam groans but allows him to put it on him. "I just want to make sure it's right before you see it," Zayn explains. "I'll take it off right away." He pauses. "Unless you'd like to keep it on."

"Tempting," Liam chuckles. "Rain check?"

"Sure." He pushes open the door.

The lights are off. There's candles set up all around the room, and the fireplace is turned on, flickering light illuminating the space. There's honest to god rose petals on the floor, leading in a path from the bathroom to the bed, where more are scattered around. There's a bottle of win in a bucket of ice on a table at the end of the bed, as well as a box of chocolates (and a single pack of Reese's, just because), and more flowers. It is, in essence, every cheesy hotel bedroom from all those ridiculously planned first time scenes in movies and TV shows. It's horrible and perfect, all at once.

"Okay," Zayn says, hands on Liam's waist. He tugs off the blindfold. "There you go."

Liam laughs. He laughs for a long, long time, until he finally catches his breath and drags Zayn to the bed. Without any warning, Liam pushes him down and crawls on top of him, still giggling, like he can't help it. "You're crazy," he says. "Absolutely— fucking crazy. God, Zayn, really? With the roses and the chocolates and the  _candles_?"

Zayn grins, tilting his head while Liam nuzzles his neck, stubble burning there in the best way. "You don't like it?"

"I love you," Liam says instead of answering that. "You're ridiculous and cheesy and you're such a  _dork_  but the world seems to think you're this mysterious, sophisticated person and — I love that. I love you. I love that I get this side of you and I love that there's a fucking pack of peanut butter cups on that stupid table with the roses and the wine that probably costs more than the car I had in college. I'm so in love with you it's stupid."

"Stupid?" Zayn repeats.

"In a good way," he corrects. "Stupid in the best way."

For once he lets himself be the one laid on, instead of the other way around, and Liam's the one leaning in to capture his lips. It's soft, at first, the kiss. Not exactly hesitant, but slow, like they have all the time in the world and neither of them need to rush just yet. He finds the belt of Liam's bathrobe and tugs at it until the knot comes undone, and he slowly pushes it off Liam's shoulders until Liam sits up and shrugs I the rest of the way off.

"Yours, too," Liam says. "That thing looks ridiculous on you."

Zayn laughs and takes off his bathrobe, too, throwing it somewhere on the ground. The blanket is soft and silky under him, and he can actually feel the damn rose petals on his skin as Liam settles back on top of him, pressing him into the bed. Zayn parts his lips before Liam's meet his, and it isn't long until his tongue is pushing into Liam's mouth, and Liam's fighting him on it, groaning and trying to dominate the kiss.

So Zayn lets him, body going slack under Liam. Liam makes a pleased sound and kisses him with fervour, grinding his hips down. "This bed is bigger than my bedroom," Liam groans, lips sliding from Zayn's.

Zayn laughs. "Really? That's what you're thinking about? The fact that this bed is bigger than your room?"

"No," Liam denies. He grabs Zayn's arms and flips them over so he's on the bottom, Zayn almost falling off him until Liam steadies him. "I'm thinking about getting a bed this big for my room. You know, an entire bedroom that's just a bed. I could see the perks of that. We could just roll around having sex in any—"

Zayn kisses him to shut him up. He rolls his hips down, the friction between their bodies sending a wave of heat through him. Actually the whole room is hot, from the fire or the steam of the bath or maybe it's just the way Liam touches him, but his skin is slick with sweat where it slides against Liam's. For some reason that only spurs him on, has him moving his hips with more abandon, rutting against Liam as he bites at Liam's shoulder.

"Zayn," Liam breathes. He scratches at Zayn's back, blunt nails scraping sharply against his skin. "Can we—? Like we talked about?"

"Yeah, of course," Zayn says quickly, stumbling over the words. "Of course."

Liam's hands slide over his back, and he grins up at Zayn, all lopsided, head tilted. "Someone's a bit anxious."

Zayn ignores him, backing down Liam's body. "I've got — Just give me a second," he explains and he hops off he bed. This time he doesn't worry about being naked for completely different reasons. He's too busy fumbling with the drawer to the table beside the bed, hands shaking.

He jumps when Liam's hands touch his skin. He turns, eyes narrowed, and nearly shoves Liam back onto the bed, but Liam presses whispering kisses to his spine and he can't think enough to do anything but arch back into him. Liam leans over, his hands firm and steady as he grabs the box of condoms out of the drawer. He rips it open, tears one out, and grabs the bottle of lube before using his knee to shut the drawer.

Zayn lets Liam pull him back to the bed, and he's about to crawl back up Liam's body before he remembers. "One more thing," he says quickly, holding up a single finger. "One more thing."

Liam smothers a laugh with his palm, nodding silently as Zayn moves towards the curtain covered window. The curtains are thick and heavy, but he manages to push them open as much as he can, and Liam makes a soft sound from the bed.

They're on a high floor, and there aren't any tall buildings near them. Below, he can see the streets and the lights from the rest of the city. Above, the sun is setting in the sky and the starts are feebly shinning through the navy sky. It's breathtaking, it really is.

Zayn returns to the bed, and this time there's no question about where this is going. It's like now that they've agreed on that, they can't wait. Zayn ruts against Liam again until Liam palms at his ass, and then he's whispering, "Come on, babe. Move it along. Want you."

Instead of doing what Zayn asks, Liam makes a keening sound, hands reaching around for the lube that he'd left somewhere on the bed. He finds it and presses it into Zayn's hand. "Next time," he says, looking hesitantly up at Zayn. "Want to see if you're as good in reality as you are in my dreams."

"Who's the cheesy one now?" Zayn teases, but he scoots down Liam's body.

Liam's legs part around him, and Zayn's been here before, kissing the insides of Liam's thighs until he's writhing and whining, but normally there's a much different goal in mind. Now, he follows that same path, until the insides of Liam's thighs are dotted with pink marks from where he'd nipped or sucked at the skin. He wraps a hand around Liam's prick, bringing it to his lips, and he revels in the way Liam looks down at him like he's giving himself over to Zayn and he completely trusts Zayn to take care of him.

It's not filthy, or hurried. Zayn lets his eyes fall closed and slides his mouth up and down Liam's length, lazily blowing him as his fingers trace circles against the insides of his thighs, first, and then his ass cheeks, and then he's sliding a finger over Liam's hole and holding Liam down to stop him from bucking up into Zayn's mouth.

"My birthday," Liam gasps out. "No teasing."

"Okay, babe," Zayn relents. He locates that bottle of lube again, letting Liam's cock fall back against his stomach, leaving a smear of spit and precome there.

There are awkward moments, sure there are, like when Zayn nearly spills the entire bottle of lube on the bed, or when Zayn slowly pushes that first finger inside of him, crooking it, searching for that spot, and Liam knees him in the side of the head when he squeezes his legs closed. But the moon is in the sky now, silver light battling with the orange glow of the fire, illuminating patches of Liam's sweat slicked skin. He looks like art, Zayn thinks. Zayn would draw him if he trusted himself to be able to replicate that kind of beauty, but he thinks that only the most talented of hands could ever come close to capturing the way Liam looks right now.

Zayn's got two fingers steadily moving in and out of him, stretching him wider as he goes, and Liam's propped up on his elbows with his legs spread wide, chest heaving, head tilted back with his eyes clamped shut. His legs shake on either side of Zayn every time he brushes against Liam's prostate, and the tiny, helpless sounds Liam's letting out aren't helping the throbbing between Zayn's own legs.

Liam pushes down against his fingers and,  _fuck_ , Zayn can't handle that. The way Liam's groaning like he can't get enough, impatiently fucking himself on Zayn's fingers when Zayn's too gently, too slow, to careful. He pushes a third finger into Liam, meeting barely any resistance, and he gets lost in the feel of Liam's leg brushing against his arm and the tightness around his fingers, in the smell of oil from the bath and that distinct sharp smell of  _man_ , and the music playing softly in the background from the radio on the dresser, something romantic with no words, just instruments creating a melody with Liam's sighs and moans.

Liam impatiently tugs at his arm, and just this once Zayn gives in immediately instead of drawing things out. He's in just as much of a hurry as Liam, and it is Liam's birthday, after all.

Once again Zayn's hands are shaking too much as he tries to rip open the condom. He lets out a self deprecating laugh, but Liam easily plucks the wrapper from his hand and opens it, sliding the condom onto Zayn's cock. It's the first time he's had more than the silk comforter touching him in a while, and he bites down on his lip to stop from making an embarrassed sound. Until Liam leans up and grabs the back of his head, pulling their foreheads together.

"Don't do that," he orders. "It's not supposed to be perfect. It's supposed to be fumbled and messy and loud and awkward and perfect. Don't hold back on me because you're embarrassed. Nothing to be embarrassed about, Zayn."

"I love you," Zayn says, trying to find Liam's lips with his own. He hates that it sounds like he's throwing those words around, saying them so often instead of saving them for when it matters most, but he can't help it. Not when he deeply means it every time those words stumble out of his mouth.

Liam chuckles. "Exactly."

One of Liam's hands tangle in his hair while Zayn lines himself up Liam's entrance, and his other is trapped above his head, fingers locked with Zayn's, Zayn leaning heavily on it to hold himself up. Liam winces and bites his lips when Zayn pushes in, grip tightening in his hair. Zayn stops thinking about how perfect Liam feels around him, warm and tight, and instead focuses on peppering Liam's cheeks and neck and lips with kisses until Liam relaxes under him, body going from taught and stiff to loose and slack.

There's no finesse to it. It's not like with everyone else Zayn's been with, where he feels like he's trying to prove a point. There are moments where he grips Liam's legs tightly and pushes them almost to his chest, fucking relentlessly into him as Liam claws at his back and the sheets. There are moments where things slow down to a simmer, where his skin burns against Liam's and every breath he takes is from Liam's lips as his damp hair falls across Liam's forehead. There's this one moment, where Liam's body arches off the bed and his moan rings off the walls and the moonlight hits his face just right, and Zayn looses himself in it.

He comes first, teeth sinking into Liam's collarbone,  _I love you_  and  _Liam_  stuck in his throat as his breath hitches. It crashes over him, his orgasm. It's not a wave of heat and pleasure and release; he's being dragged under, vision darkening, lost in it for what feels like forever. When he comes back to himself, he pulls out carefully, and this time he's the one who winces in sympathy as he moves down Liam's body, taking his cock into his mouth once again. He pushes two fingers into Liam until he's squirming, crying out, bucking up into Zayn's mouth and coming down his throat.

Zayn only has enough energy to cross the room, throw out the condom and collapse on the bed next to Liam. Liam, who's still panting, staring up at the ceiling like he's incapable of doing anything else for a while.

"Do you think it's like this for everyone?" Liam wonders out loud. He tilts his head towards Zayn. "Is i supposed to be this easy? This perfect? Are two people supposed to fit this well, or is it all in my head?"

Zayn finds his hand. It's his favourite thing, holding Liam's hand. "It's not like this for everyone," Zayn says. "And it's not all in your head."

Liam props himself up, but he keeps his hand in Zayn's. "Where's your phone?"

"In my jeans, in the bathroom," Zayn answers. "Why?"

Liam brings their joined hands to his lips. "Be right back. Don't you dare move."

Zayn raises his eyebrows. "Couldn't even if I wanted to. Seriously, a raging murderer could come in here and I'd let him cut me into pieces."

"And I'd have to protect you," Liam jokes as he gets out of bed. His legs are a bit unsteady, and Zayn smirks at that, thinking _I did that. That's because of me_.

Liam comes back with Zayn's phone. He's swiping at the screen, pressing things, and Zayn watches him curiously. He perches on the bed, still using the phone, and then he reaches for Zayn's hand again. He twines their fingers and takes a quick picture. The flash lights their hands up, illuminating the slight contrast in skin tones, the difference between Liam's thick fingers and Zayn's thinner, bonier ones.

"What are you doing?" Zayn asks.

Liam grins. "You told me I needed a new twitter icon."

—

**Five Months Later**

"There's no room for it," Zayn groans. "Liam, seriously, it's the ugliest, possibly  _oldest_  sofa in existence."

Liam drops his end of the couch and puts his hands on his hips. Liam's little flat looks so empty without the personal touches, most of which are housed in boxes that are taking up Zayn's living room back home. All that's left, really, is this stupid sofa. They'd donated Liam's bed and dresser, since he wasn't going to need it, and Liam didn't have much more furniture than that. Nothing more would really fit in this damn shoebox.

"Compromise," Liam says. "I'm moving into your ridiculous apartment, I should get to keep my shitty sofa."

"So you're admitting it's shitty." Zayn smirks. "Come on, Liam, it's a health hazard. I got stuck the last time I sat on it."

Liam pouts. "Zayn, please."

Zayn bites the inside of his lip and rolls his eyes. "Fine.  _Fine_. But it's going in the guest bedroom."

Liam smiles like sunshine. "Thank you. Now pick up your end and help me with this."

"Don't see why we couldn't hire movers," he grumbles, for what feels like the fifteenth time.

And, once again for the fifteenth time, Liam says, "Because it's barely any stuff, and we're both completely capable of moving it."

Which is true, until they get to the door. The sofa doesn't fit, so they try turning it. It nearly falls on Liam's foot, Zayn gets hit in the shins, and they can't get it out of the apartment. "It's not going to fit," Zayn says loudly, struggling to keep his grip on the thing.

"I got it in here somehow," Liam says. "Try turning it a fraction to the — nope, that won't work. Huh."

" _Liam_ ," Zayn whines. "It's  _heavy_."

"Maybe I should call Lou and ask him to come help," Liam suggests.

Zayn groans and puts down his half of the sofa. It creates a wall between him and Liam, trapping him in the hallway and Liam in the flat. "He and Harry conveniently have a date tonight," Zayn says. "I already tried to get them to come help."

"Oh." Liam's quiet for a moment. "Niall and Josh?"

"Visiting family."

"Right." Liam sighs. "Okay, one more try."

Zayn makes an annoyed sound but he lifts his end of the couch. It's not just one more try. It's six, and somehow they finally get the stupid thing into the hallway, where it nearly collapses on Zayn and kills him. Getting it down the stairs is even harder, and Zayn's a sweaty, panting mess by the time they load it into the back of the truck they'd rented to do this.

Of course, that's not the end of it. They still have to get it to Zayn's building, and it takes the help of the doorman to get it in the elevator, and then once again they struggle to get it in the door. Once the thing is finally in the guest bedroom, Zayn glares at it and heads for  _his_  sofa, where he collapses in a heap. Unlike Liam, who's busying himself with unpacking.

"Liam," Zayn calls. "Take a break. That'll still be there in an hour."

"In a minute," Liam shouts back. "I'm just putting my clothes away so they don't get wrinkled. You said I could have the last two drawers, right?"

Zayn goes to say no, he said Liam could have the middle two. And then he remembers, and his eyes widen as he jumps off the sofa. His sock clad feet slip on the hardwood, and he nearly slides into a wall in his rush to get to his room, but it's too late.

Liam's standing there, bottom drawer wide open, clutching a box in his hand. He gapes down at it, slowly lifting his gaze to Zayn's. "What's this?" he asks softly.

Zayn's stomach churns. Liam wasn't supposed to find that. It was stuffed in that drawer for a  _reason_. He wanted to wait until the right moment. For the perfect timing. And of course he doesn't get that, because it's not hard enough, asking Liam this.

Slowly, Zayn makes his way across the room. He takes the box from Liam's hands with shaking fingers, and he takes a steadying breath before sinking to one knee. "This isn't how this was supposed to go," Zayn admits. He rubs the back of his neck. "Um. Fuck, it's stupid how I'm good with words when it doesn't matter, how I can write songs about things and how I feel and shit, but when I try to say them to you they never come out right. But. Fuck, okay. Liam, look, you're — no, that isn't—"

"Just get it out," Liam whispers. "Just say it, Zayn."

"Right." Zayn winces. "You're just — you're everything, you know? I want every minute with you. Every minute of the rest of my life with you. You've crawled your way into my heart, filling up all these empty spaces in it that I didn't realize were there. You've lit up my whole world, and I could dream of a million different lives for myself, but you'd be beside me in each one. I wasn't always sure if true love was something that really existed, but this — this couldn't be anything  _but_  that. And  _fuck_ I'm twenty-four years old, Liam. There's no way I should know what I want for the rest of my life, but I do. It's you. It's always going to be you. I can't imagine myself ever wanting anyone else. So just— Marry me, Liam Payne. Fucking marry me, okay?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. Basically this fic was just something I wrote purely for myself, without stopping to think 'Is this really necessary? are people going to like this?' I thought up a fluffy scene I wanted to write, and I wrote it without hesitation because I wanted to.
> 
> Because of this I'm sure a lot of you aren't going to enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it, but that's totally okay because this is completely tailored to fit my own preferences, and I know that everyone's are very different. Apologies if I wasted anyone's time with this honker of a fic, and thank you so much for taking the time to read this. -- C


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